Life on the Run
by LibraMoon
Summary: Alternate storyline to the Blight. Mage Amell is an apostate mage on the run. Her plan was never to get caught, but she never planned on saving the templar who is determined to bring her back. Rated M CullenxAmell
1. Chapter 1

**Rated M for mature content and for the hell of it. I need a beta! One who can help me with my tenses if possible.**

**I own nothing it belongs to Bioware. **

**Please enjoy.**

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Mage Amell was a curious woman. A woman who liked to test boundaries at times and abide by all the rules at others, she was well known in the Circle of Magi tower. She was not by any means an overly pretty woman, or even an overly powerful one. There was the general consensus among the inhabitants of the Tower that she was simply another average, run-of-the-mill, or ordinary sort of woman.

But mage Amell was special.

Her hair was a plain sort of brown and her eyes a regular shade of hazel. She was not among the exquisite beauties of the tower that had unusual hair or eyes that enraptured the hearts of men near and far. Mage Amell was not short or even tall, her average height often lead her to be over looked and blend in with the background of her home.

Though there were many mages whose power far surpassed hers, she was not weak by any stretch of the imagination. More often than not she would be dead center in her studies. She was average in every sense of the word by all outward appearances.

Mage Amell was known to be nice at times and mean at others. Just like all of her fellow mages and apprentice mages, her mood changed from day to day. She was not gifted at music or dance. She was no exceptional wit at conversation or master of tactics. To meet her once would leave no lasting impression upon the soul.

But mage Amell was special.

She was a woman who was used to being over looked and took that many times to her advantage. You see, the woman known as Mage Amell was a being that possessed a very mercurial nature. Her intelligence lied in what she did not say or do. Solona was a planner. She thought out situations with a tenacity that would cause others to walk away in weariness.

Her harrowing had been rather uneventful all things considered. It had taken her the usual time to pass, not because she could not figure out the game, but she knew that coming back too quickly would cause notice. The last thing Solona could afford was notice. Any extra attention from the First Enchanter or from the Knight-Commander would cost her dearly.

One could not escape if one was being watched closely.

She was not a conniving person, but a cautious one. Her blessings came from her time to be left alone unnoticed. No one paid much attention to a plain mage in a library. Templars were known to watch the pretty or the dangerous. Mage Amell was neither of these things; she was the spirit of determination. So who would look twice at something you walked past every day? Her plans of freedom had been two years in the making.

Whispers of failed attempts by her peers kept her grounded for a time. The urge was always there to run, to flee, and to escape. It would not be suppressed lightly. Mage Amell knew better than to act foolhardily and rush herself into action. Half of the success of her plans lay in waiting for opportunity. It was a near exhausting game to play; acting the part of a wallflower.

It had taken months of flitching items from the storeroom and pantry alike. She had made sure to take duties that allowed her access to these areas. One night or two a month she would volunteer for kitchen clean-up this got her some praise from her elders, but not enough to be a concern. She often could be seen helping Owain in her spare time, when the other tranquil were busy. Mage Amell made sure never to insist upon helping or to be disappointed when her plans were interrupted by a careless word or gesture.

Mage Amell knew the value of patience.

Patience had kept her secure when other fools like Anders and Kerian had taken off from the tower. They were always brought back within a month or two. Mage Amell knew they had not planned well enough. Though she could send out correspondences about where would be a good place to travel, or rest what would undoubtedly be her weary body; she did have ample chances to chat with the local quarter master who traded with the merchants outside the Tower.

She had learned early on in her time at the tower that merchants had loose tongues, provided you had time and coin for their wares. Mage Amell always had time. The coin had been harder to come by in the Circle than one would believe. It had been resolved by her willingness to barter goods instead of coin. A simple enough solution, for the purpose of her plans.

Precious information would tumble from the quartermaster's lips like water in a brook. What could he possibly know of her plans? She was but another customer of a large cage where outside news was brought. So he gave her tidings of places in need of relief from war, places that were teeming with new wealth and life, and places she should avoid. He just never knew how well she headed the information.

Mage Amell was a wise sort of woman in her own right. She had never been one to excel in book learning, or even her lessons. It could be said that she was a decent herbalist, but not a master by any means. It was a pitiable excuse that she had spent so many hours mapping the tower that she had let her studies fall to the back roads. It had served her purpose well in the end. The first lesson she had learned in the tower was that attention is deadly.

Attention brought with it demons of two natures. It brought with it the demons that wanted her soul and the ones that wanted her life. Mage Amell had grown up a cautious woman who prided herself on being unremarkable. It had given her plenty of time to copy the mannerisms of her means of escape.

A merchant was truly a gift in the hands of patient mage.

It had taken weeks of subtle comments. Weeks of gentle touching and coy looks. Mage Amell was not a conniving person, but she was cunning. She watched from the shadows of obscurity like the templar's she knew to fear. She had learned the way to tilt a head to appear shy. She knew the exact way to smile slowly to show true affection to a male. With her efforts she had gained more useful knowledge than items alone could buy.

She had social interaction in the tower. Mage Amell understood that it was impossible to forgo it entirely even thought she wished it otherwise. Her friends were nice enough people, but they were sparse. Mage Amell knew better than to make lasting connections in a place she had no intention of staying in.

The largest conundrum she had come across was how to deal with her missing phylactery. How did one capture a heavily guarded object? The answer is that one could not. Her time in the Circle had taught her that the fervor to find an apostate normally died after one year's time. After one year the hope of finding the mage was dead and gone. There would be obligatory ventures out to find them, but they lacked the ferocity of the first hunts.

Mage Amell would only have to be on the run for one year before it was safe to settle down. Something, which she was confident she could accomplish, provided that she had all of her options planned out; a confidence she had clung to for the last two years. Now her planning would pay off on this night.

She had hidden her bartered or stolen treasures well among the various niches of the statues lining the chapel within the tower. It was a place that mages never went, and templars were hesitant to disturb. The revered mother was old enough that her eyesight was failing. It had been an insult too tempting to resist.

Mage Amell worked quickly to stow some extra potions and small amount of coin in the lining of her robes. She wore her other outfit underneath her traditional mage robes. It had taken some effort and scraps of cloth to make the pockets on the inside of her skirt. She had heard of bandits that stole purses and pickpockets with nimble fingers that robbed you blind. She would not make the mistakes of others and take a bag with her. They were cumbersome and mage Amell had no time for such delays.

The centerpiece of her plan would be attempting their own escape soon. The mage Anders had been planning to leave on this night. Mage Amell steeled her will against the last minute worries and doubts of things she might have overlooked. She searched her mind but could not think of one. This boded well for her meticulous nature.

She did not doubt that the mage Anders would be caught within the month again. He was brash and hardheaded. A shortcoming mage Amell had little care for. It would be her that sounded the alarm of his escape and use the ensuing chaos as cover for herself. She would not even have to wait terribly long from now.

The quartermaster had done well this night. He had brought with him a woman about her age and build to peddle his wares. The same woman he had brought, upon her insistence, for the past three weeks. She knew that a sudden appearance of another would only make her plan less likely to succeed.

"Might I see your wares?" her voice was calm and even, betraying nothing. She was simply a part of the background of the Circle.

"Certainly! I have fine items from Antiva this week." He called to her gaily. His eyes perusing her as they always did.

"Antiva? I must see them." She tilted her head and nodded after a moment, as if in thought.

His arm extended toward and pointed the way toward a more secluded crevice where his wares sparkled in the candlelight. "This way my dear. Katharine?" he bade to the other brunette woman who looked at him in curiosity. "Could you fetch some more supplies from the dock?" The girl nodded her compliance and walked through the door of the tower.

Her eyes narrowed slightly at his comment. Mage Amell was not pleased by his choice of words, but there were no witnesses to their exchange. "Are you ready?" She whispered quietly for his ears alone.

"Yes, my lovely mage, I am as ready as I can be." His gaze was hungry upon her body and she fought the familiar feel of repulsion.

"Wonderful." She murmured and past him. "I am sorry, but these are not to my liking. I can tell from here." Mage Amell shook her head for added affect to the negative.

"Are you sure? There are many fine pieces." He began winningly.

"I am certain." She bid him farewell and walked her way back through the tower to the mages quarters. She gazed at each passerby and templar to note their location. Her memory for such things was unparalleled.

Mage Amell was special.

The mage Anders was already missing. She snorted angrily. She had lost time and it worried her. Mage Amell walked as coolly as her jagged nerves could allow. She was little more than a ghost in the tower. No eyes watched her or even acknowledged her presence.

Her steps down to the first floor weighed with finality. She was the essence of determination. Just through the door she in took a deep breath.

"Anders is missing!" Her keening cry drew the focus of the statue men who leapt into action, much like she knew they would.

"Are you sure?" one asked "How did he escape?" Mage Amell lowered her head and took deep breaths. Time to practice had made her words second nature.

"I looked in on him; he had said he wasn't feeling well. He wasn't there so I asked around and no one had seen him all night." She forced tears into her eyes with little exertion. "Should I tell the Knight-Commander?" Her innocent look had taken many months to perfect in front of her vanity. She had been too cautious to use it before now.

The men seemed to take her words in stride and one went up to check the validity of her story, the other went with her to the Knight-Commander and once more the course of events seemed to follow her plans. Predictability was its own sort of poison.

They neared the main entrance of the hall and her eyes sought out the quartermaster who nodded slightly to her. The girl 'Katharine' had come back with her arms laden with goods which were now being spread about the ground.

Mage Amell was never one to leave things to chance. The Knight-Commander would be enjoying his evening indulgence of bantering with the First-Enchanter at this time of night. The templar escorting her cursed at the empty room.

"I'll wait here for you to return." She offered helpfully. He eyed her suspiciously, but she looked meekly back at him. The templar sighed and left. Mage Amell counted to ten and then ripped off her mage robe. The blue fell away to reveal a plain green gown similar to the one Katharine was wearing. It was not exact, but that could not be helped this late in the plan's execution. She pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail to alter her appearance significantly.

Quietly and quickly she left the Knight-Commander's quarters and headed over to her partner in crime, who saw her and carried forth with her next needs. "Katharine would you be so kind as to fine the First Enchanter for me?" The other woman nodded and agreed to go find him. Mage Amell waited until she was out of sight. She walked out of the way the woman had gone.

"Are you sure you need me to find him?" Mage Amell quirked.

The quartermaster grabbed her and kissed her roughly. "Soon my lovely, very soon." She fought her repulsion.

"Yes darling." She cooed at him even though it sickened her stomach to do so.

"Never mind. Here take these supplies out to the docks, we will not need them." He unceremoniously dumped several items he had carelessly grabbed into her waiting hands.

"Yes of course." She answered sweetly and walked toward the main entrance. This was her moment of truth. All of her years of fading in the background would be tested by this one moment. She looked at the two templars barring the way expectantly.

"Lower the gate!" One hollered and she stood waiting for the door to open. "Ma'am." They said as she passed by.

Being ordinary did have its advantages, one of which she was reaping all the way to her freedom. The merchant was expecting her to wait by the boat until he came out. Mage Amell had different plans. The boat keeper whose name she did not know, greeted her.

"I haven't seen the likes of you before." He said politely.

"I'm a helper of the quarter master." She responded with equal politeness.

"I didn't see you on the way in." His voice rose to be a touch suspicious.

"You wouldn't have." Mage Amell laughed. "I was a cook there in the tower until he hired me this very night."

"Hired you? Tonight?" He looked at her in disbelief. She tilted her head to show confusion, bit her lip to show nervousness, and widened her eyes to appear innocent. Many things could be learned by being overlooked.

"Yes. You don't think I will be a good merchant?" Her voice dripped with false sincerity.

"Oh no! Of course not. I am sure you will do fine girly." The boat keeper smiled at her. Mage Amell had precious little time left.

"I have to go across to the other side of the lake please. I have to make arrangements at the tavern." She smiled widely as the man agreed and helped her into the craft.

Halfway across the lake she ceased being Mage Amell and became Solona. The newest apostate mage on the run. The added items of the quartermaster cradled safely in her arms to sell, she relaxed. Soon, she faded into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Aww! Thank you for the reviews! I am glad you like the more dramatic steam I am blowing off so that I can make 'Rumors' more sarcastic and improbable. This chapter is more to explain where the areas I will be mentioning are. **

**I own nothing. Rated M**

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Night became day and day bleed into night once more before Solona allowed herself rest. She did not care that her dress was muddied or that her stomach demanded sustenance. She could not stop for her plans demanded that she be to this point before the midday sun was high. Cautious, she gazed down the well-worn road with satisfaction. The outside world was much as she expected. Her memories were fuzzy often about the places she passed or the animals that people used. She did not remember there being so many noises. She would sneer distaste at the overwhelming smells and sounds.

These were things she had not taken into consideration. It had irked her to no end that perhaps the fools Kieran and Anders had possessed some useful knowledge she had failed to acquire. Loose ends where like snares to Solona; a wrong foot here or there and entrapment was all that waited.

Her skills had been an asset already. The language of the body did not change from the inside of the tower to the out. She expected that. She knew that there were secluded areas along this stretch of road from the tavern keeper she had chatted with as she had sold the goods of the quartermaster.

Coins were precious to those that had no means to earn more funds in the foreseeable future. An understanding that she took to heart as her very existence depended upon the meager amount of coins hidden in the lining of her skirt.

Being unremarkable had once more come to her aid. An average woman, no matter how unknown, did not turn the heads of drunken sots that gave away precious knowledge. It was knowledge that had given her a chance to alter her plans, for now she knew that there were concentrations of chantry forces in Redcliffe. She would adapt by going around the area costing her three days of travel, and end in Gherlen's pass to the north.

She had timed her ruse to perfection; an accomplishment she did not take lightly nor over indulge. Solona had known from the failed attempts of her fellow mages, that she had given herself an hour at most to make her way. The boat keeper had been an ingenious part of her plan. Without the boat keeper, there was no way for men loaded down with arms and armor, to cross the lake.

Pretending to be enamored with the quartermaster had been a necessary evil. She had was not given many options thanks to the very same mages that had been captured. With each botched attempt at freedom, the tower had become harder and harder to escape. Solona had called it a self-perfecting prison.

It had been hours of switching directions. Hours of walking through water and mud to mask her scent. She had practiced for months to hide her magic. Solona was never one to be ill-prepared. She had spent an equal number of months watching in quiet contemplation the training of the templars. Who would look twice at a mage carrying a message? Even if the message were a blank piece of paper, no one thought to check. She had never been known to cause problems, so why would they have suspected?

She knew their stances when they prepared to fight. She knew which attacks they favored and the air in which they carried themselves. The templar's were a predictable breed. Solona tried to make sure that she was not predictable by taking routes that were long and cumbersome and then walking clear out of her way to ones that were well traveled and smooth.

An easy time in finding her, she would not abide.

Using time wisely is an advantage that should never be squandered. Solon knew that well. Her thoughts often mirrored the optimal outcome of settling down and starting anew. It had taken hours to think up a suitable name and back story. She squashed the flurry of hopeful feelings with a ruthlessness only known to warriors.

Following the plan was everything. There was no victory for her without the plan.

Her plan dictated that she would travel for a month's time. Her destination would be the Gwaren at the southeast point of Brecilian Passage. Solona charted to go through the River Dane and West hills to the tip of the North end of Fereldan. When she came to Highever she would take odd jobs and chores to earn enough to purchase a steed. The said animal would then carry her swiftly through the Bannorn and Drakon River, down the Brecilian Passage to her new home. Gwaren was a perfect location to Solona. It lied nestled between the Brecilian Forest and the Korcari Wilds.

A place templar's feared to tread. Solona had calculated several escape routes into to either bordering territory should the need arise. She was never one to take chances.

Furthermore she would take advantage of the templar's reliance on word-of-mouth to find her. When one has spent so many years in the background, it is a simple matter to know how to garner the most attention.

A few well crafted disturbances in Kinloch hold and the Chantry's guard dogs would be chasing a non-existent trail. She was not willing to be constantly on the run when she could be one step ahead of the game. After all, this was all one large game. Solona saw the victor to hold her freedom.

Her senses warned her that exhaustion could not be staved off forever. Her gaze swept the road once more and a lone out cropping of moss-covered rocks caught her attention. She was without extra clothing or items to see to her personal comforts. Only fools weighed comfort over survival. Her common sense stopped her from using the shelter such rocks might provide. She would be an easy target to stop and capture.

The trees to her left, scraggly and with branches too thick, seemed a better place to bed down. Solona knew that staying where there was more cover was a far superior way to hide. Her carefully collected knowledge and skills did not extend to tree climbing. She was not pleased when her hindquarters suffered the full brunt of her ignorance.

A few branches had snapped under her weight. Plans must be made to be adapted but never changed. She would adapt from her original idea to secure herself in the tree and sleep, to using the branches she had unintentionally broken to cover herself as she slumbered.

The detail that she was unable to use magic was never far from her mind. To call upon it in a moment of need, to allow the magic access through her body would undo everything she had struggled so hard to achieve. Magic would act like a beacon to the bit of blood that lay captured within templar hands. The irony had never escaped her that she was in fact her own worst enemy.

With tired hands she had pulled the branches around her tightly. The air around the mage had lond since grown warmer by the heat of her breath. She did not doubt that they would be close to her soon. Close was acceptable, upon her was not.

Solona was special she knew she would never be caught.


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for reading rated M I own nothing. **

**Enjoy.**

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Templar Cullen was foremost a pious man. He never stood on ceremony or pomp and circumstance. Templar Cullen was a gentle man by nature and a ruthless warrior by heart. He was not among those that enjoyed tormenting the hunted. He was the man that brought back apostates and maleficars or destroyed them. His faith in the Maker was always unshakable, something he attributed his success too.

His life had been fraught with trial and hardship. He had been given up as a young boy to a Chantry in the middle of the night. No record was ever kept of who had been his mother or his father. Templar Cullen had once been a dreamer locked inside his own head with silly fantasies. He had been unfortunate when the time had come to develop skill both in the academic and the physical persuasion.

But Templar Cullen was determined.

During his awkward phases caught between a boy and a man, he had often steeled himself against his more whimsical nature. The Maker had seen fit to forgive him his transgressions and Templar Cullen had grown into a rather tall man with broad shoulders. His hair was short and well kept, a tad more severe than other men to remind him that life was an unkind mistress. Templar Cullen had a pleasing face. It had been remarked to him on several occasions. There were times when he knew that had he not been a Templar, he would have had his pick of the female sex.

He was never cruel unless it was necessary, nor was he kinder than need be. As far as tempers were concerned Templar Cullen was an ordinary man. He had moments of anger and frustration. He was known to have moments of joy and elation. Nothing was ever out of place in his world. It simply could never be out of place.

Every assignment given to him was always carried out to the letter. Templar Cullen never shirked a duty nor a prayer to the Maker to turn his gaze back upon the world. He was viewed in high regarded by all of his brethren for being so stalwart in the face of any adversity. Templar Cullen was a font of strength for all those under his command and for every man who uttered his name.

He was a young Templar, but his innocence and fierceness always shone through. He never lacked for words of wisdom or of censure. His mind contained no impure thoughts. His deeds were long and worthy.

But Templar Cullen was determined.

His determination stretched to the heavens and back with ways to become a person of recognition within the ranks of the Chantry. His years of experience had taught him that any who defied the Chantry were little more than flotsam. He considered it his personal mission to become as close to holy as was possible for a mere man.

The main thing that made him such an iconic figure was his merciless dealings with the 'Hunt'. It was a well known fact among the Templars and mages alike that Templar Cullen never gave up. Never, in the true sense of the word, would he stop chasing a mage until they lay resigned to their fate his last hunt had taken three weeks. His men had grown weary and hopeless, but Templar Cullen had never admitted defeat to anyone or anything. When a hunt called upon him to kill; he would kill without delay. His hand never stayed for those that had taken another life.

There were whispers of fear and reverence wherever he went. Such was the case when he brought his latest 'catch' the Mage Anders back to the tower. His prize was trussed up in a similar fashion to a game bird, and Templar Cullen relished the sight. He had fed and given water to the mage for he was not without mercy.

"Templar Cullen!" The voice of the Knight-Commander boomed upon his entrance into the rather stoic Circle of Magi.

"Greetings, Knight-Commander." His chiseled features melted into a near smile. "I have captured the Mage Anders on the outskirts of Fereldan attempting to book passage to Nevarra, by Hunter Fell." Templar Cullen hoisted the Mage Anders up with one hand and dumped him unceremoniously at the feet of the Knight-Commander, who sneered down at the male mage.

"I must say Anders, you keep getting farther and farther with each attempt. That makes this what? Number five?" The Knight-Commander asked stonily, his booted foot lashing out to strike the mage squarely in the side. The Mage Anders grunted and snarled behind the confines of his gag. Templar Cullen had thought it a prudent measure to take. The Knight-Commander smiled warmly at Templar Cullen. "Well done. You have the thanks of the Circle." Templar Cullen nodded in acceptance of the praise.

"It was by the Maker's will." He sagely replied, his tone never changing from one moment to the next.

"Was the other not with him?" The Knight-Commander quirked after looking behind the ragged group of Templars.

"What other Knight-Commander?" Templar Cullen felt the familiar quickening of his heart beat to the call of another 'hunt'. He was slightly annoyed that the 'other' had not been mentioned prior to his departure. Leaving a task unfinished chaffed him greatly.

Templar Cullen was a determined man.

"Another _apostate_ escaped the same night as this" The Knight-Commander gestured to the furious mage who lay prone on the floor.

"I was not aware of another." Templar Cullen nearly spat in distaste. It was his firm opinion that mages did not understand how lucky they truly were.

The Knight-Commander waved one hand dismissively. His posture spoke volumes of his displeasure and that irked the Templar Cullen. "The other is known as Mage Solona Amell. There was another team sent after her. They had caught word of her in Kinloch Hold, but they have not been able to pick up her 'scent' again. It would seem that this mage is remarkably hard to follow." Blank faces stared back at the Knight-Commander. Any mage that was trouble to find was a serious threat and it only made sense that Templar Cullen should be the one to find her. "She is a primal mage, but of little consequence possessing average magical power and no extensive skills to list." Templar Cullen could not fathom how incompetent the other hunting party must have been to be unable to capture such a mage.

It seemed a waste of his time. Yet, it was against his nature to turn down even the most mundane of tasks.

"What are her features?" His first question came nearly as second-nature after the many hunts he had partaken of.

The Knight-Commander's unease gave him pause. "Mage Amell is human, has brown hair, the style unknown, and hazel eyes. She stands around five feet and six to eight inches."

"Six to eight? We are not certain?" It was unheard of to not have an exact account of the mage on the run.

"It would seem that no one in the tower can quite recall what she looks like." The Knight-Commander gritted his teeth at the admission.

Templar Cullen heard the murmurs of fear and disbelief. How could no one remember a woman they saw every day? "What of her friends? Surely they can give us a more precise description." The younger man bristled.

The Knight-Commander glowered at Templar Cullen. "No one claims a friendship to her, and no one can dispute that someone was."

"She has no friends, and no one can recall her face?" Agitation burnt a hot trail through the young Templar. "How is this possible?"

The voice was low. "We do not know. " The words were clipped. "All that the consensus can agree on is that she has fair skin, brown hair length and style unknown, hazel eyes, and is average height. There is nothing remarkable about the chit at all."

Templar Cullen felt part of his determination flare. "Then she looks like a quarter of the female human population of Theadas?" His temper simmered quietly.

"So it would seem." The Knight-Commander looked oddly stiff. "Do not forget that she was spotted in Kinloch hold." Templar Cullen arched a tawny brow. "It was reported that a woman matching her description set fire to a local thief."

Templar Cullen looked annoyed. Mages were not meant to harm anyone, even in self-defense. He glared down at his recent catch, who thrashed around on the cold stone. "Do you know something Mage Anders?"The person in question nodded slowly. Templar Cullen knelt down and removed his gag. "I would speak quickly if I were you."

His sandy brown hair was disheveled and lied over his eyes. " I know Sol-Mage Amell." He corrected lightly.

The Knight-Commander's hawkish eyes bored into the young mage. "And?"

"And? And what will I get in return for my…assistance?" The formerly renegade mage challenged.

Templar Cullen thought him brave and foolish. Foolishness was not to be tolerated. "You will walk away with your emotions intact."

A buck of ice water would have had the same effect on the mage. Templar Cullen knew that the threat of tranquility never failed to entice compliance.

"She is intelligent." The still tied mage clambered. "I have noticed on more than one occasion that she seems to think in ways that you or I would over look."

"Explain yourself." The Knight-Commander barked roughly.

"She just thinks! That is all she does. I have never seen her take a gamble or leave anything to chance." He hastily corrected.

"She is cautious?" Templar Cullen interjected tonelessly.

"Extremely." Mage Anders swore vehemently.

"If you know her, then where is she headed? What of her features? How do I identify her?" The young Templar demanded impatiently.

"I don't know where she is headed, but I doubt that it will be anywhere _near_ Kinloch Hold. She is obviously smart enough to elude you fine Templars" The mage sneered. "As to her features, I know that she is not ugly, she is passing pretty I would say, a sweet sort of ordinary." He scrunched up his face in concentration. "I would say that her nose is straight and normal. She has nice teeth, and her voice is sensible. I can't think of a way to identify her in truth."

The Knight-Commander kicked the bound mage once more. "_This_. This is exactly the problem we have been encountering since her disappearance."

The young Templar looked from the mage to the Knight-Commander with dispassion. "Where is her other hunting party?"

"They are currently going through the west Hills and march toward the Free Marshes." He sighed wearily and looked every bit his fifty summers. "Her phylactery has yet to light with magic after her little display in Kinloch Hold."

Templar Cullen nodded his understanding. His gaze rested on his men, who looked the worse for wear. He brought his hand up to signal that the 'hunt' was on for the newest mage. Nary was a complaint nor an utterance heard. He knew his men respected his tenacity far too much to be upset by this new development.

His heart was heavy at the prospect of finding such an unbelievably ordinary mage amidst the whole of Fereldan. His thoughts turned to the information the Mage Anders had given. This Mage Amell was far more cunning than they would first believe. How did one find someone who blended in so well that not even her life-long fellow mages knew her face? He was almost at a loss. The Mage Anders had said that she would not be anywhere near Kinloch Hold.

The other group hunting her was set to go north, that left him south, east, and west. It would be all too easy to pick a direction and have it be the wrong one. Further to his disadvantage, her phylactery lied in the hands of the other party. He and his men would be going forward blind. It was a situation that Templar Cullen hated but could not change.

His many excursions would have him think that this mage would act much like a crazed animal, but she had blended into the background so completely that he knew it could not be coincidence. Templar Cullen knew to trust his instincts, they had kept his living well beyond sheer skill alone. His instincts screamed that this mage was dangerous because she was intelligent.

Animals double back on occasion to elude their hunters. Yet, he recalled that the Knight-Commander had stated that her phylactery had not glowed. The mage could not have doubled back, but could she have gone around? If she went around instead of forward that would have her going around the whole of Lake Calenhad.

That could only leave her going south when she crested the head of the lake. It would be possible that the apostate was going east, but that lead to the Brecillian Forest. Templar Cullen knew that the Dalish did not take kindly to humans in their territory. If she was smart enough to leave the tower, she was smart enough to avoid unneeded danger.

Directly south held the Kocari Wilds. Could she be going into the uncharted lands? Many a being had met its demise at the cruel hands of the Wilds. Templar Cullen had heard the tales of the Witches of the Wilds, perhaps they were not the daughters of Flemeth but the apostates that outran the Chantry justice?

He restocked the groups meager supplies to near bursting once more and still his thoughts churned with possibilities. His best course of action, he decided, was to head south toward the Hinterlands and Ostagar. If anyone passed through the road, the guards at the sacred battleground would know.

Templar Cullen did not believe for a single moment that the Mage Amell could escape him.

Templar Cullen was determined.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for all the reviews! A hearty thanks to my readers as well.**

**Rated M. I own Nothing. **

**Enjoy, because reading the author's note is not what you came for. :D**

OoOoOo

Obtaining a horse at Highever had proven a difficult time for Solona. She had been at a disadvantaged to be sure. Her funds were not large and she was not given the freedom to make an aggressive deal without being remembered. But that had only delayed her plans and plans were meant to be adapted.

Her hazel eyes were narrowed in concentration as she had watched the horse trader for the past two days. A weakness was lethal in the hands of a patient mage and Solona was nothing if not patient. She watched him in every waking moment from her position in the market. She blended with the background as easily as a dear drop blends with a pond.

The horse trader in question seemed hardened. That was problematic in and of itself because he was the only one permitted to sell horses to those outside the Castle of Highever. As irritating as that fact was, Solona could not allow herself to voice her frustrations. Her singular attempt to buy a horse had ended with failure when the subject of price had been discussed.

But plans were meant to be adapted.

The weakness she had been waiting for came early the next morning. It would seem that the horse trader had a soft spot for anything in the family way. She had spotted him taking extreme care with a pregnant mare and though she was certain he would treat his horses better than people; she would have to exploit that detail.

She moved without hurry or nervousness. Solona knew very well that not so much as a single templar had been spotted in the area. Her mind let her muse over her 'slip up' in Kinloch Hold. The thief had been an unlucky man in her opinion. It was not her that he was stealing from, but another male who had been dressed in armor and wearing a ponytail. Other than that, Solona could not remember either man. Her chosen target had been attempting to lift the coin purse of the other male and Solona had seen fit to simply draw attention to him. With a little magic she had lit his shoes on fire.

Confident that her tiny display of magic had been more than enough to make a ripple in the Hold she had allowed the man who would have been a victim to see her. Solona had smiled. _Run along little tattle tale, _she had thought. Even after her magical abilities had been known, she was able to trade with the merchants without incident. One moment feared and the next nearly invisible as just another face among the masses.

The majority of her initial coin had gone to supplying herself with items that would be necessary only to survival. Solona hardly needed a comfortable bed roll, but a blanket would do nicely. She had splurged a bit in order to obtain the pack that was slung over her shoulders. Her previous plans of using her minor herbalism skill had already proven itself. Her other expenses had all been toward food flasks and agents for the potions or poultices she had created. However, there were not that many people on her travel that had needed or wanted her wares.

Now she was faced with a task that would necessitate the use of more or her hard earned coin. Solona glowered slightly in annoyance. This would mean that she would have to make this horse trader feel very moved at a plight she needed to fabricate. Her head held neither high, nor low, she set off to the nearest merchant selling clothes. She purchased a robe that was slightly large on her frame, and a small sack. Solona then went to the merchant that sold mending supplies; it was unfortunate that the cloth merchant and the mending merchant were not one and the same. Her last stop had been to a different animal merchant, where she had purchased several pounds of feathers.

The light was judged to be sufficient enough for her needs. She set off to a smaller, quieter part of the land on the outskirts of the Hold. She started by sewing one face of the sack into the robe and occasionally checking the height. She sewed the corners of the sack into the exposed face and nearly sewed the sack shut. A hand-sized opening had been left untouched and that is what she used to stuff the sack. The most tedious part was the stuffing of the sack and checking it over and over to make sure it looked believable.

She tried the gown with the false-belly on four or five times, she could not remember. When nearly all of the feathers had been used, and a few scraps of spare material had been stuffed in as well to give it some firmness, she was finished. Solon sewed up the last hole in the sac and put the gown on. The false-belly hung a bit high, but some women did carry their offspring in such a manner. The bulge was slightly larger than she would have liked, but it would simply have to do. Solona knew she would have to wait until the light had started to set before she could approach the horse trader.

Solona placed a protective hand on her creation and pushed to see how much pressure would be needed to ruin the illusion of a solid mass. Her displeasure grew at the understanding that she would have to avoid anything coming into contact with the feathers. She kept her hand in place and sought the nearest mirror with haste. She located a merchant with such a mirror in their possession and took a few discrete glances at her stomach area. It was passable. She knew it would not withstand a large amount of scrutiny but the fading light and a heart-wrenching story would see her needs met.

Returning the mirror, she ventured off to find the horse trader. Solona tugged her hair out of its bun and walked slowly toward the horses.

"Evenin' Ma'am. We are gettin' ready to close up for the night, what were ya lookin' for?" The horse trader was a fair man from her observations. He seemed slightly put out and Solona thought that supper must be waiting for him at home. That was a good thing because his eagerness to leave she could use to her advantage.

"I find myself in need of a good horse." Her smile was genuine from her anticipation of having a animal to carry her instead of her own two feet.

The horse trader's face split into a grin with ease. "That's why you came to me alright. What sort of horse are ya lookin' for?" He gave a glance or two to her protruding middle.

Her head tilted and she looked over his selection from her vantage point. "I'd take a nag at this point." She looked up at him with eyes slightly widened. Solona needed this horse, and she gave a slow rub to her middle, the pressure was very light.

The horse master laughed, but his eyes softened, just as she had been hoping they would. "I understand." He gave a glance around and frowned at her. "Where is your man?"

Solona dropped her shoulders and bit her lip, keeping her eyes downcast. "My-My man passed away shortly after a little one was made. He was a victim of a thief, the bastard stole his purse and his life." The shifting from one foot to the next to show unease. The wringing of her hands to display dismay. "I need a horse to get home to my mother and father."

The horse trader flushed and had the decency to look horrified. Solona might have been sympathetic to such a plight herself, and didn't feel wonderful about tricking the horse trader. But plans were made to be adapted and she consoled herself with the knowledge that she was going to pay the man. "I'm so sorry." He started and then caught himself. "I might have just the horse your lookin' for."

As she watched the man leave and go around the corner, Solona calculated that she would have to give nearly the rest of her coin to buy the animal, but she could sell it once she was settled in Gwaren. She would consider this an investment instead of an indulgence because she was trying to get as far away from her 'hunters' as possible.

The horse trader reemerged with an old mare whose gait was slightly off. The dumpy mare was cream in color and had large eyes. Solona couldn't have cared less. A horse was a horse. "This fine little mare is gentle as can be. Won't harm the little one none." The man grinned at her and she smiled back at him.

"She's lovely." Solona murmured and watched the horse trader puff with pride. "How much are you asking for her?" A half-hopeful tone added to the mix.

The man looked her over once more and Solona simply stared back at him. Her hand never leaving it's post of protecting her false-belly. "Well, considerin' everythin', I could let this little gem go for…10 sovereigns.'

Solona grit her teeth. That was the last of her coin almost exactly, but the price was greatly reduced from when she had tried a few days ago. She painted the smile on her lips. "Oh. That's wonderful. I'll take her."

The horse trader chuckled and took her money. He was nice enough to throw in a saddle with her mare and Solona was grateful. She would have a hard enough time learning to ride the animal, but having to ride it bareback seemed like a death sentence. She walked the horse away from the merchant.

She quickly extracted herself from the Hold and worry over the feathers forgotten, she mounted the mare with the assistance of a nearby rock. Solona placed her feet in the stir-ups and waited. The horse made no movement so she grabbed the reigns and flicked them as she had seen others do. The mare slowly walked to life and ambled down the path that would lead her south to Gwaren.

It irked her that the measly few silvers she had left would be used to feed the nag, but that could not be avoided. Her pace would not be nearly as quick as she had first anticipated. That added time to her journey, but it was still preferable to walking by far. Solona had time to improve her balance on the animal and after a few minutes stopped clinging to the saddle for dear life.

OoOoOo

Templar Cullen was furious. His men were scouring the village of Lothering and speaking with their brothers in the Chantry. However, despite asking numerous people and after copious amounts of time searching; he had yet to come up with a single lead on this Mage Amell. Even though he was a patient and determined man, he was furious at the dead ends.

Most of his hunts had been rather easy in their nature. Many apostate mages picked highly populated areas to lose themselves in, but people always remembered them. This woman was nigh on impossible to remember. This particular mage was too pretty to be ugly and not pretty enough to be memorable. If Cullen did not know better he would have said the mage didn't exist.

However, part of him relished the first _real_ challenge a mage had ever presented. This mage would not escape him, it was impossible for anyone to escape him. He had tracked mages almost all over Theadas with varying degrees of difficulty, but this was new to him. This Mage Amell was likely one of the three mages in Cullen's experience that had actually avoided using magic. The mage had yet to need it outside the lone incident at Kinloch Hold. The more he thought about the mage's display of magic, the more it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

The mage had used magic, but declined to use it further. An odd thing to blatantly display one's power only once; Templar Cullen's instinct told him that it was planned. How could it not have been? The mage's actions spoke of trying to terrorize but it was negated by the fact that it was never repeated. It did not sit well with Templar Cullen.

Mages had no idea, in his opinion, how fortunate they were to have the templar's looking out for them. Templar Cullen sent a silent prayer for guidance to the Maker, for he needed help in catching one of the 'cursed'.

They had met a similar result at Ostagar. No man could recall a lone woman, or any woman coming through. The guards had been readily forthcoming with information. There had been merchants and camp whores a plenty that had passed by. Templar Cullen curled a lip in disgust at the mention of the carnal pleasure pleasers, before returning to a cool mask of Templar dignity. These men were not dedicated to serve the Maker as Cullen was, so he would not begrudge them their wickedness.

His men's spirits were sagging and Templar Cullen took it upon himself to raise them. He ordered them all to take a night's rest while he, himself, kept watch. The men had protested, but he had insisted. His gaze swept over the lush landscape, but he felt nothing moving about the beauty before him.

There was a mage to be caught.

The moon reflected lightly on his armor and he stayed vigilant, his eyes never lingering long. Where had the mage gone? Had the other hunting party met with success? Templar Cullen did not like the idea that someone would snatch his victory from him. He was not a man who prided himself on his accomplishments, but this particular mage irked him to a new level. The past few weeks had been a maddening blur of blank faces and blank memories. Normally, by this time, he would have some inkling to the whereabouts of the mage.

Other hunts had given him phylacteries or friends that had ideas of where the apostate would run. This was the first time that he was forced to proceed completely blind after the renegade. Still he prayed the Maker would guide him to the mage. He would need his men ready to move upon her with a tenacity he rarely asked of anyone other than himself.

The next morning stood bright and no less daunting than the previous sunrises to Templar Cullen. Every day brought a chance to help redeem the world and Templar Cullen seized it with all that he had. He stared a head at the path through the Southron Hills that they were taking. He had decided to leave the exploring of the Kocari Wilds as a last resort. Prudence and concern for him men weighed heavy on the decision.

Templar Cullen and his hunting party were a force to be commended. The clanking of their armor was a sound that brought fear into the hearts of Mages. It was an easily recognized sound, perhaps too easily.

OoOoOo

She should have turned back. She should have gone around or even past, but she did not. Solona heard the whispers of magic on the wind. Her nag had come to a stop suddenly on the road. Curiosity and the song of another lured her off her mount. She took a moment to tie the nag to a tree branch.

Solona was an ordinary sort of woman. She was not overly curious unless it was needed, but she could not stop herself from looking. The clanking of metal and the feel of the air drew her past the trees where the road to her freedom lay.

The trees grew quiet and for a moment she thought she had missed whatever had transpired. She knew instantly after the last few feet, that she never should have stopped. Blood magic, she could taste the metallic scent on her tongue. Her eyes widened and her senses screamed to flee.

Solona knew such magic was dangerous, such magic was especially lethal. Worse, she knew, was that the templars would be drawn to it. The sound of metal upon metal drew her back again. She had failed to notice them with the panic coursing through her.

The Templars were already here.

She watched the mage weave a song of blood magic around one of the men and the now-enthralled templar leapt upon his brethren. Solona turned her head away when sword met flesh. She had been blessed to avoid bandits and death until now. She had considered her plan well executed and thought out. Most of all she considered turning around and running.

Yet, somehow her eyes landed again on the scene before her. The enthralled templar had cleaved another's head in twain and Solona shook at the sight. The men were all dead. All of them, except the enthralled man and the blood mage. She saw the blood mage give a sneer and then in horror, she watched the templar slit his own throat on his short sword.

The movement caught her eye. A lone templar had climbed to the top of a rock behind the blood mage. Her relief that someone had survived was great. Solona was never one who liked unneeded death or suffering. Her heart gave a painful lurch to the last templar standing. Her breath stopped when he jumped down with his sword extended and nearly split the blood mage in half.

She should stick to her plan. She should leave.

The templar slowly stood on his feet, and she took a step back. Solona was nowhere near the clearing, but her time in the Tower had taught her to steer clear of swords. She convinced herself that she was leaving when the templar swayed and fell.

She should stick to her plan. She should leave.

Step after torturous step she moved forward. She was an average mage with average skills, but Solona was human. How could she not even check on him? It was a fight inside of her that raged stronger than her tempest spell.

Unsteady, she knelt beside him. Her hands quickly dragged his weapon out of the way. Her mind would not let that threat stand against her. She gripped his helm and slid it gently off of him. Solona cursed her lack of healing spells. She had learned first aid, but had not the knowledge or supplies for complex healing.

She would need to examine him and judging from the gaping hole in his armor and the amount of blood, she would have to do it now. Shaky fingers tugged at the straps of his armor. Solona knew she needed to be as gentle as possible in order not to exacerbate the wound.

As she peeled back his shirt, the man groaned. She winced at the sound, her heart hammered in her ears. She should have stuck to her plan. Solona inspected the wound. _A clean blow_, which was good news, _but the bleeding need to be stopped and the wound must be closed_. She pulled her pack from off of her back and rummaged through. She grabbed a more potent healing poultice; she poured it over the wound and watched until she was sure that the bleeding had stopped. Some of the thread and the needle she had acquired in Highever were pulled out for her use. A quick fire spell to make sure the needle was clean and she heard him stirring.

"Be calm and still." Her voice was harsh and left no room for argument. "I need to sew the wound and if you move this will only be more painful." She did not know the spells to make him sleep or to fix this by magic.

"Magic. I felt magic." The man hissed in pain.

Solona closed her eyes. She should have left, she would have been halfway to Gwaren by now. However, how could she have let him die? Solona was a mage, not a monster.

Cold eyes stared at her and she snorted at him. "This is going to hurt." And she was sure that it did. The first pin-prick of the needle on the ragged flesh had him bowing his back to escape her. She put a firm forearm on him and pressed down. She was slightly surprised that he did not make a single sound.

Time passed slowly for both of them as she practiced her sewing skills upon his skin. She did not offer him murmurs of comfort or reassurance. He did not thank her or cry out at the pain. It was an odd sort of tense moment bound in understanding and necessity.

"Finished." She curtly told him as the last knot was tied and she bit the thread off from the spool with her teeth.

The templar was still staring at the mage, who was unnerved by the intensity of his gaze. "You used magic. I can still feel the traces of it." Solona gazed humorlessly at the fallen around them. The templar watched her place all of her supplies back in her bag. "Identify yourself mage."

She stilled when he grabbed her arm in an unforgiving hold. Her hazel eyes met his amber ones and they stared at each other in a contest of wills. "I'm the person that saved your life." She bit out angrily.

"You," he said through clenched teeth. "Are a mage outside of the tower without permission and therefore an apostate." He tightened his hold on her. His eyes traveled her features at length.

Solona fought the urge to struggle in his hold. She chose instead to glare at him coldly. "So it would seem."

"Tell me your name." His voice was even, and his tone suggested he could have cared less about her. Solona was no fool however, his gaze was narrowed and his jaw was set. He was very nearly furious by her estimation.

"I'm Solona." She never flinched from his gaze, what good would that do? He didn't seem to understand that he was still a lone and wounded templar; and that she could leave if she chose.

Recognition sparked in the depths of those amber eyes. "Amell?"

Unease flittered across her. He was her hunter, which she understood instantly. She knew she should have left. She nodded, not seeing a reason to answer him.

He made a move to sit up and Solona's mind churned with possible ways to escape. She was confident that he would live, but templar's had the nasty habit of being as tenacious as a mabari with a bone. He would be able to feel a magical attack building, and he would be able to take her magic. That would only leave her disoriented and weak. Therefore there was only one option. She pushed him down as hard as she could and wrenched her arm free. Bolting to her feet she knew he would be hindered by his wound.

The templar was slowly moving to stand. She took a few steps away from him and smiled grimly. "You will not catch me templar. You will not take me back." She was certain he had heard such words before.

"You will not escape me mage. You will go back." His face was impassive and she could tell that he believed his words.

"Then I shall not be stopped and you shall not be moved." She tilted her head to one side and after she gave a mocking curtsy, she turned and ran. His armor clanking as he attempted to follow her, but she did not doubt that the pain would be too great as she bolted to her nag and hurriedly untied the reigns.

This was exactly why plans should always be followed. She knew she should not have stopped and it had cost her all of her possessions. She had gained a templar that knew the song of her magic now and had clearly seen her face. Bitterness and anger welled within her as she urged the beast into a gallop.

Plans were meant to be altered, not ruined.


	5. Chapter 5

**I thank all of you who have spent time to read these chapters! A hearty thanks to those that have reviewed, you know who you are, and so do I!**

**Rated M, not suitable for work, and I own nothings. **

**Also, someone expressed confusion to me as to why Cullen calls her 'the mage', let me explain that really quickly. Solona is not actually a person in Cullen's eyes just yet. So calling her 'the mage' puts a distance between them and marks her only by status. I hope that clears it up. **

**Please enjoy!** Happy Thanksgiving, go get fat and be happy!

OoOoOo

Templar Cullen was stuck in a state of ire that warred with puzzlement. His side ached with a fierceness he had a hard time finding a parallel to. The very mage he had been searching for, had saved him? It was unheard of. It was unthinkable. It was a blow to his pride and his honor.

He could not let a mage escape.

_How dare that mage? _ His thoughts had raged like the sea against a cliff's edge. How dare the mage come and heal him? When he knew damn well the mage would have had to have been close enough to see the battle in order to have found him at all. No mage just goes traipsing about in the woods without reason. So that meant Mage Amell had stood by and watched his men die.

Templar Cullen shifted his gaze to the bodies of his fallen brethren. He would need to bury them. He gritted his teeth at the humiliation of having to let the Mage Amell slip from his grasp. He promised himself it was a temporary concession. His men needed their last rights and to be honored for their service. It did not matter how badly his now-healing wound burned, or how tired he was. The bodies of the ones he had been proud to call friends would not keep.

Still, he could not let a mage escape.

Templar Cullen was a determined man, and as such he had taken time to memorize the mage's face in the few agonizing minutes while his tattered flesh had been sewn back together. He did not doubt that she took a malicious joy from the sight before him. Mages were cruel creatures that harmed more than any other animal in all of Theadas.

With hands that were worn and bloodied by dirt and debris he had dug them shallow graves. He would need to alert the Chantry as to what had transpired in the next village and then the Chantry would send out a party to dig the men up and give them the rites that they needed. Not too long from now the bodies would be burned in a pyre that would send his men to the Maker, the very being they had sworn to serve till death. A saddened sort of smile played at his lips coyly.

Night had fallen long ago when he had drug the remains of the last body into its dirt cocoon. Exhausted, and alone, he had sought out tinder as close to the clearing as possible. It was then, as he turned to leave that a brown sack caught his attention. Templar Cullen had been so distracted by his duties that he had failed to notice it prior to now. His aching fingers wrapped around the cloth quickly and he yanked the bag into his lap. The moonlight reflected upon him a bounty of treasures.

Tucked neatly inside, with such organization that it surprised him; was a bedroll, several healing potions, a mending kit, a few days worth of food, and a robe that seemed slightly stuffed. Templar Cullen pulled the robe out to inspect it. Shaking out the garment he saw the bulge directly around the hip line and narrowed his eyes.

He could not let the Mage escape.

Templar Cullen now knew exactly why no one remembered her. This mage was exceedingly crafty. How often did she form some disguise to get by the notice of his fellow hunters? He closed his eyes and tried to recall the song of her magic. It had been slow and light, he remembered that. The unfortunate part was the fact that he had only been able to feel it once, and he had been half unconscious.

This mage was very much average, he supposed. The features the mage possessed where not unsightly, nor where they overly pretty. He would hazard the saying that she was 'fetching' in an ordinary way. Templar Cullen rubbed his face with one weary hand and set about taking another health potion for the relief of his pain. The idea of a fire had long since left him when he bedded down in the bedroll the mage had provided.

Tomorrow he would track after the mage and stop only long enough to alert the Chantry. The body of the blood mage had been drug far enough away from the campsite that should any hungry beast come by, it would pose as a snack. Templar Cullen's thoughts drifted back to the features of her face, to her height, and to her voice. There was a face to the enemy now and Templar Cullen would make sure that it would be a well known face.

Mage Amell would never escape again.

OoOoOo

Solona cursed to the high heavens in her mind and in her speech. The nag she had purchased had been run nearly ragged. The old mare was unable to reach a break-neck pace much less keep up anything that surpassed a cantor. This had only added to the burden of the young mage. Her hands quaked around the reigns and posture spoke volumes of anger.

Everything was ruined.

She was out here alone, with none of her possessions and the ever constant darkness. Even the moon did nothing to lift her bedraggled heart. Her mind hounded her with decisions and choices she should have made. Then she would not have been in this mess had she made the correct ones. All of the planning and the waiting had been in vain now.

Everything was ruined.

Saving him was the worst choice she had made, she knew it. The nag limped along at a much slower rate and Solona gripped tighter on the reigns. There were disadvantages to having a heart. Her instincts screamed at her to just go back and make sure he lived. She had left him alone and wounded in a forest. Even if he had her supplies he might be picked off by bandits or Maker on knew what.

Firmly, she reminded herself that her situation was far direr. Now she was forced to come up with a new plan. It grated on her nerves more than anything she had ever known. In making this new plan she was deprived of maps and time. Both of which had made her last plan so successful.

Lamenting at her own lack of proper discipline where her plans were concerned, she was weighed down with the aching understanding, that this templar would be acutely aware of her face. Having him aware of her magic was something she could bare. That was an easy task in and of itself, she never intended to use it again so what was the harm if he knew it? No the ruin lay in the fact that he knew her face. She would never be able to be nearly invisible with him around.

Everything was ruined.

Solona went onward blindly. She was not even aware of the direction she had pointed the horse to begin with. Where was she to go now? What would she do with only a handful of silver still sewn into the lining of her robe?

The horse came to a dead stop and Solona sighed. She had not gotten very far at all. The beast was clearly putting its' foot down at having to go one more step. She gracelessly clambered off of the animal's back and lead the animal a little ways off the path. Branches and rocks greeted her this night and she swore vehemently that the templar who had her belongings must be truly enjoying himself. Solona would not have put it past him to be sleeping in her bedroll.

Tomorrow, she promised herself, tomorrow she would come up with some sort of back-up plan after she figured out her location. _No,_ she thought sadly as she watched the first rays of morning peak out from beyond the inky blackness, _not tomorrow, later today. Later today I will fix my mess. _She had run in blind panic as quickly as she could in order to be away from her templar hunter. She hated the look in his eyes when he recognized her. The moment she knew that he had been sent for _her_ and not the blood mage.

She groaned lightly as the ground made her body throb and ache. Solona had only ever felt contempt for the majority of people in existence. The templar had worried her though. He had worried her on a level she had never been brought to before. He was dangerous. At any point that could be said of anyone, but Solona felt that this one in particular would be a problem.

Everything was ruined.

OoOoOo

Dawn is unforgiving and his side burned when he moved. Templar Cullen looked at it briefly, no signs of infection. The mage was a decent enough healer, he granted. He had been started traveling after only four hours of rest and now as the first rays of true sunlight steamed through the trees, he was more than ready to bring the mage back to the Circle where mages belonged. Today marked the start of a solo hunt for the Mage Amell. A pained grimace for the memory of his men etched on his face, Templar Cullen slowly repacked the bedroll and the empty flask. He stood slowly and with care as he replaced his armor. Once fully suited, Templar Cullen ambled off in the direction of the road. The path sat there as it always had, mocking him. His jaw set in renewed vigor at the sight of hoof prints in the dirt. They were recent, for the wind had yet to blow away excess dirt and the groove was far too defined. Something told him that she hadn't gotten far.

The trek takes a toll on him though he will never admit it. The healing poultices have helped and the majority of the pain has subsided, but the pulling of the thread over the skin that still needs to knit has become maddening. His armor weighed heavily on the sore muscles that cried out from over use yesterday.

The hours have blended into one another. Templar Cullen has lost track of the number of steps he has taken. He has lost track of the time and the date, but he has not forgotten his purpose. He prayed to the Maker for guidance and strength. He prayed for his friends and the people who would hear the news of their death.

The soft whinny alerted him when he crested the top of a hill. The sun had been beating down with less mercy than the blood mage he had faced previously. _Her horse?_ He asked himself. He stepped off the path into the safe harbor of the trees. It was not hard to find the beast by its smell and some of the noises it made. Templar Cullen neared the animal slowly. The creature was in dire need of water and food, both of which he was inclined to understand the Mage would not have. After all he still had the Mage's pack.

Templar Cullen glanced down at the still sleeping figure of the mage. His walk through the night had indeed proved to be useful. The 'horse' that she was riding looked to be older than himself and was dumpy. He was at least surprised she hadn't stolen it. Why would she steal the slowest horse in creation?

It was then, that he realized he had no irons or rope to bind her feet and hands. As he gazed down at the prone figure he felt the anger from the previous night boil hot in his veins. A disoriented mage was the next best thing to a bound one, so he sat quietly waiting for her to wake up. When she had awoken he would holy smite her into submission.

Templar Cullen was a determined man.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks for the reviews and for reading! Sorry to say that I am at a little writer's block with this fic, so the chapter is a bit short, sorry!**

**Rated M, I own nothing, and please enjoy.**

**I just wanted to state that this is a AU, so if you are confused, please understand that none of these events were options in the game. Thank you.**

OoOoOo

She first became aware of the heat. The pain in her back and legs came second. Solona opened her eyes to a world that was far brighter than she would have liked. She inhaled deeply and made a move to stretch, when he foot came into contact with something rather solid. Her eyes widened in dismay as she stared at the impassive face of the templar hunter she had left hours ago. Part of her had hoped that he would have been too injured to continue after her.

It was not part of her plan to ever get caught. Something that sounded like a simple enough solution at the time had now proven to be exceedingly difficult. Her eyes narrowed in concentration as she took in his posture. He was primed and ready to attack her if need be. Solona could feel the harsh hum of his energy swirling in the air.

It was much like being in front of a large mountain cat that had just spotted supper. She shifted her gaze to take in all of him. His armor was on once more, and he had her pack slung over his shoulder. It was a thought that irked her slightly, but being upset would only escalate this situation to a point she did not want. Taking in her surroundings she realized that her 'horse' was still nickering behind her. Solona was curious about how long the templar had been watching her, but it was a triviality that did not help her now. All of her previous night's thoughts were lost to the wind when the templar had taken one step forward.

_Submission_, it tasted bitter on her mind. She locked her eyes with his; the challenge was silent but firm.

"Come apostate, it is time to return to the tower." His voice left no room for disagreement.

Solona tilted her head at him and appraised him once more under her eyelashes. In combat she knew that she would lose and quickly. Even if he was injured, he possessed enough skill to strike her down quickly; if she judged correctly from the fate of the blood mage. Instinctively she understood that outrunning him would not occur a second time so easily. That left her with only one option, her first, submission.

Without a word she had risen to her feet. Solona relished the look of shock that briefly flickered in the templar's stance. She would have to study him longer, she decided, to know how to escape him. She vowed in her heart that he would not get her back to the Tower.

Solona was sure of it

They stood facing each other and both of them bore a cool mask of indifference. The templar started forward again, and his hand reached out to grab the bridle of the horse. Unfortunately she noticed that his eyes never left her. As quickly as they came, she tossed thoughts of possible methods of escape away. All of them seemed too risky and risk as well as chance, went against her nature. She could see what taking a risk had already gotten her.

When the bridle was freed, he advanced on her. "Put out your hands Mage." He commanded.

Solona eyed him speculatively. Restraints were not something she had counted on him having. She had taken note that he did not have shackles, but the leather reigns in his hand could be used to bind her hands. Her mouth pressed in a thin line of annoyance. "I refuse. I am complying with your demand to go back to the tower. Surely, you do not need to bind me." She was careful to remove the felt annoyance from her voice.

His reaction was unexpected. There was neither warning nor even an argument before she felt the crackle of his energy upon her magic as he siphoned it off with brutal efficiency. Her stomach lurched and she panted for a moment. _Do not refuse him outright._ Her mind cataloged that information away for use in the future.

She met his gaze again void, for the first time in their brief acquaintance, of all magic. "Put out your hands Mage." Solona was wary at the lack of alteration in his tone.

"I think the bridle might be best served on the horse was my point." She stated as calmly as the situation would allow. "If we both rode the horse, it would expedite our travels."

She was hit by a wave of righteous fire and her mind screamed in protest. Her mind attempted to fight against the attack, but she could feel it like sticky fingers pulling at her. It tried to take magic she no longer possessed thanks to the templar's cleanse, and she stood stunned before him. Solona gasped and felt the flames lick over her body causing her mental pain with each crackle until it all subsided.

She watched him as he grabbed her hands and tied them quickly. Her breath came out in short pants and her throat constricted at each intake of precious air. _Dangerous_, her wounded mind whispered, _be careful._

OoOoOo

Templar Cullen stared at the struggling mage. His distaste at the mage evident, as he reminded himself that the 'cursed' had brought it upon itself. He did not like having to state something twice. This slip of a mage had caused him a great deal of trouble and still had to answer for her inaction while his brethren were slain. It was still a very fresh event and thus had not been given enough time for the anguish to have faded yet.

His eyes bored into the mage before him, who glowered at him in return. He grabbed the metal bits of the bridle and pulled the mage along a make-shift leash. He gently patted the horse on the way by, as he fully intended to simply leave it there. Templar Cullen paused when he heard the withering chuckle.

"So you would treat an animal with more kindness?" The mage asked bitterly.

He refused to glace back at her when he asked; "Does it bother you to see one of your ilk being handled with more care?" His tone is frosty as he continued back out of the forest to take them both to the road way.

"It bothers me that you seem so keen on forgetting that I am _human_, just like you Ser Templar." The caustic reply did more to Cullen, than he would have realized. Human; it was one simple word that pertained to a species. Yet, it shifted his focus only for a single breath, but that breath was enough. In that singular moment of clarity the mage became she and she became human.

Cullen had forgotten.

His Chantry training quickly stifled the boyishness that might have lingered underneath the man he had become. Cullen, though he loathed admitting the fact, had once viewed mages as people. Years ago mages had been human. Years ago mages had been elves. That had been a time when the world had seemed so full of possibilities and not the endless heartaches or bitter disappointments he knew it to actually be.

"You will be quiet." He sneered at her. His face twisted into a mask of fury and confusion. Cullen viciously tugged the lead and made her stumble behind him. If she had fallen, he would not have cared for he would have dragged her anyway.

Mercifully, or wisely, he did not know which, she is silent. The sun shined down on them in hot waves and his thoughts laid solely on returning to the safe harbor of the Chantry and his lyrium. Though Amell was not aware of it; he had been using the few lyrium potions that had been left in her forgotten pack.

Something deep in his mind wriggled hotly at the thought that this girl was indeed human. Because she was human, that meant that her heart was no different than his and her blood was just as red when spilt. The thought bothered him for a reason.

Cullen had forgotten.

OoOoOo 

Solona was acutely aware that escape was nigh on impossible at this point. She would have had to put her faith in luck and chance. Those were the two things that she could not abide. In a match of the physical, she would lose in a heartbeat. In a match to the magical, she would win only if he did not drain her mana. He had forgotten once, in the heat of the moment, but she held no delusions that he would forget again.

She knew she had to escape. The only questions were 'how' and 'when'; and much to her chagrin, she could not answer them. The minutes had ticked by slower than her harrowing had. Solona decided to use the time wisely. Reflection was the better part of wisdom in her opinion, and it was always a good idea to note where someone went wrong.

She shouldn't have stopped for the night. It would have been more prudent to continue forward even after the nag had stopped. Her lack of planning and her subsequent capture annoyed her. What annoyed her more was the fact that she could not read the templar with the same ease that she had taken for granted with others.

Solona could not figure him out.

_What had bothered him so when I stated I was human?_ Her mind snarled and growled. If she had still possessed magic, it would have fair hissed with the anger of its mistress. The song of her magic had normally been called a sweet melody, if not a bit ordinary, but the song it would have composed for this templar would have been nothing short of a symphony of rage.

His limping had drawn her attention. Solona sighed at the circumstances of it all. "Let me see you wound." She commanded.

The templar had stopped upon hearing her voice. "There is no need. It is mending." The curt reply had been delivered with less aloofness than before. She responded to the change in his demeanor from the small demand. "It might be mending, but I will have to check it for infection." She pressed the issue slightly.

"What do you plan?" He whipped about to face her.

"I plan nothing." She replied, not caring enough to state that she was unable to plan without a goal in mind, or an escape in the foreseeable future.

He snorted at her. "I have seen your other 'gown' Mage Amell. You appear to be as conniving as they come." He spat his words at her.

She pressed her lips in a thin line of distaste. She was not conniving, she was cautious. She had needed that nag, and had paid for the beast. It had been a necessary evil in the grand scheme of things. Or what had been the grand scheme of things, before she had allowed herself to be captured. "Contrary to whatever it is you believe, I have not harmed a single soul outside the walls of the tower." She was not certain why she had to defend herself to this templar, but she had.

"Haven't harmed a soul?" She heard the disbelief in his voice and her lips pulled back into a snarl. "What of the man you lit aflame?" The templar hissed at her.

"I set his shoes on fire. Which, he easily stomped out." She ground the words out bitingly.

"You lit a man on fire." The rebuke was cold, and precise.

"A man, who was a thief, which was praying upon a man's pockets at the time." Solona snapped at him. Her fingers gripped at the cloth and leather bonds that held her fast within his power.

"You had no right to use magic. Even if it was to help another, magic is not permitted outside the confines of the tower and you know that as well. " His voice had turned apathetic. "And why then, would you have stood by and watched my brethren die?" Her eyes had widened before she could have stopped them. The acknowledgement of her guilt, no matter how slight, was a jarring chasm between them.

"I did not plan to have your men die." Her voice sounded tight to her ears. "I did not even come upon you until moments before you struck the final blow." Her eyes turned downward. True regret rolled off of her in waves.

"If you are so quick to use your _magic_, then you should have saved us all or at least had the decency to join the fight." He tugged angrily at her leash again. "Or you could have let me die with my men; I think that might have been a kinder fate _Mage Amell._"

Solona had been vaguely hurt by his point. "So saving you is something we both agree I should not have done."

"Then why did you save me Mage Amell? Tell me how this isn't all some scheme of yours? Why did you save me; if it was something you weren't planning to do?" His cold gaze made the pit of her stomach drop.

She had licked her dry lips, and straightened her back as she had faced him. "Because I am human."

The templar turned away and his pace was decidedly slower than before. Her eyes never left his shoulders as they sagged in an almost defeated gesture.

Solona could not figure him out.


	7. Chapter 7

**Gah! Now I have writer's block on my other stories and inspiration on this one. Oh well, I am working and jumbling around whichever one that suddenly pops into my head.**

**Please understand that the author is most likely a weirdo. What I mean by that is this chapter is a bit darker than usual…well, maybe if you squint. :D**

**Rated M. I own nothing.**

**Enjoy!**

OoOoOo

The day stretched long and silent between the pair. Solona was watching her hunter with interest. _Captor would probably be more accurate. _She mused without humor. All of her options seemed weighted to one side; that side was being forcibly taken to the Tower. A place she had sworn never to return too. Solona was not one who liked breaking a promise, more specifically, a promise she had made to herself. Irritation and grudging respect warred within her.

She still couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.

The man before her trudged on with an air of confidence that had made her want to scoff after the tense moments of her initial captivity and his attack upon her person had cleared. Yet, there had been an odd sort of resignation in his eyes that piqued her curiosity. She was not remiss enough to have had forgotten that her curiosity was the very reason she was in this predicament.

Still, her mind had taken that look and turned it around in her thoughts over and over again. What had caused such a look? What had made his body posture whisper of defeat for the brief flash that she had been privy to? The templar before her had seemed so very much that, a templar. He had exuded the attitude of a true hunter when he had not paused in accepting nothing less than her complete submission; as made clear by her subjugation into the impromptu restraints.

_And yet, he still came after me so diligently when he had been gravely wounded and his men slain._ She had felt it again then, that small seed of respect and she had not dared to admit that there was admiration mixed into that tiny feeling as well. Had that fierceness been a result of his training or had it wholly been himself?

She still couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.

Others, male or female, young or old, elf or human, and even mage or not; had always been open books to a mage that watched closely. She had always been such a mage. Even when she had been dragged to her gilded cage all those years ago, Solona had always been one to observe. Her first encounter with the Templar's had been an unremarkable affair, like so much else in her life. Solona remembered that they had come one bitter and cold winter morning, after the first signs of her magic had manifested itself. She counted magic as her reason and proof that notice was a very bad thing indeed. Notice had brought the Chantry after her.

Her eyes had flicked over her captor once more. There was a disquiet air around him that she wanted to understand. She was certain that it would prove useful later, but how did one go about charming such a hardened templar? In truth, she had not the slightest inkling about the ordeal. This had never been a situation she had been fortunate enough to witness before. Solona knew that everything failed without a plan. How did she plan for something she had never done before? Her intelligence allowed her to comprehend that anything she plotted for would be rushed and hasty at it's very best.

She had been pulled from her thoughts when he stopped abruptly in front of her. His hands moved to her pack and withdrew her water skin. She watched him without expression.

"Drink." He commanded with little heat as he unstopped the skin. Her eyes traced his face with same intensity that a child watched a strange animal that dared get too close. She held out her bound hands with the palms facing upward. Solona had expected him to place it within her hands and drink on her own. It came as a surprise when he kept one gauntlet firmly on the reigns and he outstretched the opening of the water skin to her lips.

Confusion had crossed her face before she could stop it. "I can drink on my own, Ser templar." She kept her voice even as she spoke to him.

His face could have passed for a mask of indifference and it made it hard for her to see what he was thinking. That had her unnerved. "Do you wish to drink or would you rather we continue onward?" Her eyes had narrowed slightly at his thinly veiled threat. She was slightly suspicious as to why he was even attempting the formality of being civil.

She still couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.

For only a moment's time, her pride had warred with her want for a sip of cool and clean water. However, preservation was always high within a human, and her common sense dictated that she accept the offer. "Forgive me; I would like a drink, thank you." She opened her mouth to receive the liquid. Her gaze sought out the tale-tell markings of surprise on his face. Manners, it would seem, unnerved them both.

He took a single step forward toward her and tilted the skin to trickle some water down to her opened mouth. There was a tense moment where they watched each other wary and silent. The water on her tongue had pulled her away from watching his face. She had been unaware on how desperately she had needed a drink. Her eyes had shut against on their own accord and she allowed herself to feel a smidgen of happiness for a single moment.

Then the water had stopped and she opened her eyes as she looked questioningly at the templar who regarded her with quiet intensity. "More?" He asked lowly.

Solona opened her mouth to agree, but she had thought better of it. She remembered that there were not too many streams in this area and it would be wiser to conserve such a precious resource. Plans were made to be altered and a prepared soul was a fortunate soul. Solona had nearly scowled at the last thought. Her situation was describable by any word other than fortunate.

"May I see your wound now?" Her voice was neutral and she watched with dispassion as he took a swig from the water skin and placed it back in the backpack.

She waited with mild interest to see and hear his reaction. His eyes locked with hers again and Solona had found that once again they were waging some sort of silent war. Her study of him would prove useful for a later escape. Silence stretched before them and it hung heady with decisiveness.

"Are you concerned for me, Mage Amell?" His voice was colder than her spell of Winter's grasp.

"Yes." She replied with stark honesty. She watched the surprise flash across his face. Solona knew that expression well now. Surprise was a powerful weapon for a patient mage and Solona was nothing if not patient.

His gaze had narrowed on her. She knew his anger as well. However, his anger made her magic sing against her will. The song of her magic against his energy only served to push the gap wider between them. Solona understood that he was truly templar through and through. Any form of magic from her would only prompt another smiting. She knew better than to suffer an unneeded smite.

Solona was vaguely aware of a sense of disappointment when he did not respond. He had chosen instead to walk again. The reigns chaffed the thin skin of her wrists and Solona winced at the discomfort. Since their first chat, this templar had not been overly harsh with her. _What has changed?_

She couldn't figure him out…and it bothered her.

OoOoOo

She was planning something; he was sure of it.

Cullen was not certain as to what her plot was exactly, but her desired result was not hard to figure out in the slightest. He understood that she wanted to escape him, only a fool would think otherwise and Cullen had always prided himself on not being a fool. So her second inquiry as to his health had been met with understandable wary.

He was her hunter, and he had captured her almost too easily. It was a fact that haunted him from the moment he had bound her hands. His eyes wearily watched the every distant horizon. True to form, the horizon receded as he approached it. His life in the Chantry had taught him many things and Cullen held all of these lessons as irrevocable laws. Every last one had been assimilated with the eager heart of a young and virtuous warrior. Even when he had later become a battle hardened warrior, the Chantry's teachings dictated his world.

Nothing would ever sway him from the rules of the Chantry. Cullen would never allow himself to be tempted into sin like the weak. There had been times, when the darkness of night crept into his heart, in which he had wondered if sin and mercy were not synonymous. Templar honor roared in his veins and the chant flowed freely in his mind. Cullen was a templar and his time as a templar would forever be an integral part of who he is.

She was planning something; he was sure of it.

Yet, when he had sought to throw her off balance by asking if she cared; she had turned the tables on him once more. Templar Cullen knew better than to trust the words of any mage. He had sneered at the ever-long stretch of road that loomed before them. She was an apostate. This very mage, who had followed behind him without sound or fuss, was an apostate. The templar in him demanded she be treated in accordance with her station.

Mages were dangerous and needed to be corralled for their own protection. It was only due to honorable men like him that mages had not harmed everything they held dear. It was because of templars that people outside and inside the tower, were kept safe. Did mages not understand the sacrifices templars' made to keep them? Cullen had willingly sacrificed a wife and family for them. He had sacrificed everything for mages like her.

Duty and bitterness had mingled within his heart at the thought of his slain men. His men had also sacrificed everything for mages and that included their very lives. They were buried in shallow graves in a Maker-forsaken forest. Cullen was grieving. However, he could not let his grief leave an opening for a sly mage like Amell. He had seen his fair share of death, but watching his brethren die was not something that ever grew easier. How could it? He was a man and only human after all.

Cullen understood why he narrowed his eyes when he stole a glance back at the mage. He was still furious over the sentence she had uttered hours and hours ago. It irked him to no end that she had even escaped in the first place. What soothed that anger was the knowledge that he had found her by the Maker's grace.

He had agreed instantly, at the first sight of her, with the Knight-Commanders assessment of the woman; 'There was nothing remarkable about the chit at all.' Still he was unable to understand how it was that not a single person could remember her. It was true that she was very ordinary, not unpleasant to look at, but she was no beauty. Yet, he had to acknowledge that there was something about her that seemed memorable. The templar could not place his finger on what it was, but he knew it to be there. _This mage_, he thought, _she is…I don't know. But this apostate is different._

"Shouldn't we stop for the evening Ser templar?" Her voice floated around his ears and Cullen shook himself from the dangerous thoughts of his captive. His eyes had quickly scanned the surrounding area for a place to rest and spotted a small area of flat land behind a sparse smattering of trees. Cullen was disappointed with the lack of cover for such a position and chose to march them a bit further into the woods.

The days travel had not been as fruitful as Cullen would have liked. He was hindered by his injury, which he refused to let his captive treat again. Allowing her any access to a weak point would be similar to asking for death. It was a thought that was only spurred onward by her continued silence. Unlike the majority of his other 'hunts', Mage Amell had not so much as once attempted to annoy or seduce him. It was a fairly common ploy to try and lure a templar into letting a mage go through temptation of the flesh. Templar Cullen was sickened by even the thought of touching a mage more than was strictly necessary.

He held onto her lead when he dug through the backpack in search of the bedroll. Cullen knew better than to let his eyes ever leave her. Looking away would have only granted her an opportunity to escape, something he would not abide again. He had a templar's honor after all. It had not passed without his notice that the female mage watched him as well. Cullen understood what she was doing easily enough. She was either attempting to make him uneasy, or she was looking for a weakness.

She was planning something; he was sure of it.

With a quiet snort of disgust, Cullen had dropped the bedroll and next sought out the other gown she had stowed in the pack. His grip had tightened on her leash out of memory for the depths of cunning he knew her to be capable of.

"Sit down." His voice was hard and unyielding. He watched her eyes search his face again while her own was strangely impassive.

She complied, as he knew she would. A mage was not a match for a templar one on one; wounded or not and Cullen was among the best at combating apostates. Part of him wondered idly if she already knew that.

"I am going to untie you." He spoke slowly and deliberately. "If you move I will smite you." Cullen knew he did not need to elaborate on the threat; excessive words would only detract from it. They watched each other for a moment. When he was satisfied that she would not attempt any trickery, he knelt down and worked upon her make-shift restraint.

She had sat before him with a look of open curiosity and it had surprised him. Cullen warily waited for her to move, his muscles taunt and ready to spring into action. When nothing happened, he unsheathed his sword and moved the material of the gown over the sharp edge. The sound of the fabric ripping had been the only sound between them.

His hands moved with a startling affiance as he had shredded the dress into strips. He made sure to continual move his gaze between the task at hand and the mage. Still Mage Amell made no move to escape and Cullen was filled with a growing sense of intrigue and frustration. Part of him wanted her to test him. He wanted to take his anger out on her, but his steely discipline demanded that she provoke him first. Cullen knew he need not regret his treatment of her if she disobeyed him and attempted to escape again.

"Give me your legs." He stated gruffly.

When she didn't question him, he had felt the urge to clench his jaw. Cullen did not know what to make of this. By everything her actions spoke of her, she should have already tried to escape at least a dozen times. He was certain that she was as conniving as a human could possibly be. He had to shake his head to clear the thoughts away. Deftly he used a few of the strips of cloth and tied her feet together.

"May I have some more water?" She asked him with fatigue evident.

Cullen pondered her request. "You may… after I have finished restraining you." He stated bluntly. He waited for her to react and this time he was not disappointed.

"Is that really necessary?" Her calm tone was broken by the waspish inflection of her question. Cullen had very nearly smiled.

"Are you questioning me apostate?" He murmured quietly. He watched as she stiffened like prey that had caught sight of a dangerous predator. He had felt the swell of self-assurance then. Cullen understood that she was afraid. He relished it with vigor. _She needs to understand her place. _

Silence and her baleful glance answered his question. Cullen was gentle in tying her wrists behind her back. There was a second of remorse at the sight of her red and raw skin before it was replaced with a bored sort of tedium from having to restrain so many of her ilk.

When he was satisfied; Cullen removed the water skin from the bag and unstopped it. He noted with amusement that she had already opened her mouth for the life sustaining-liquid. It bothered him, however, that her eyes never left his.

She was planning something, he was sure of it.

OoOoOo

Solona drank greedily. She knew how parched her throat was by the way the water made it burn slightly before the coolness overtook the dryness. It was too soon for her liking when the water stopped and the templar took a long swig of his own. She had waited patiently all day and now her studying of him had been rewarded in the most unusual of ways. She would have laughed at herself for being so oblivious to the obvious fault.

She knew how to escape.

Pat of her wondered how he planned to keep them safe and rest at the same time. Hunting parties normally had a few templars for the very sensible reason of safety in numbers. There was no one to take a watch with him and while she was happy to look out for her own survival; she was elated at the fact that he would have to sleep and that would leave her with ample opportunity to escape him.

Solona knew he would take the bed roll, which would only be natural for any self-serving being. It had always been her experience that very few people held to their standards when away from prying eyes. She had seen such events, though different from this current situation, too many times to keep track of. It was an infallible truth that everyone has two faces. There would always be the side they showed to the world, and the real side that emerged when people thought no one was looking. Sadly for them, Solona was always looking.

When she watched him drag the bedroll over to her, she had thought nothing of it. It was only when he ordered her onto said sleeping mat, that she was perplexed. "You are not going to use it?" She attempted to stifle the morbid curiosity that surged through her.

If she was reading him correctly, he almost looked offended. "It is yours." He stated simply and Solona looked at him with near scientific fascination. "I wouldn't look for meanings that aren't there Mage Amell."

Her face morphed into a frown at his statement. "Why?" She asked slowly almost cautiously. She was not prepared for this sort of change in his actions.

"Why what?" His tone betrayed his impatience and want for rest.

"Why are you giving me the bedroll?" Her thoughts spun with possibilities, but all of them made little sense.

Contempt wormed its' way onto his features. "If you do not want it, I will be happy to take it from you." He intoned.

She felt as if she was on very dangerous ground. Solona understood that it could well be the case. She tilted her face up to study him better in the last dregs of sunlight. "Thank you." She stated only. She knew better than to poke a sleeping bear and her hunter looked ready to maul her at the slightest provocation. His body fairly screamed the warning at her. He had, however, nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement. It had been so minuscule that another person might have missed it. Solona understood the value of watching.

That was when she saw it. The way his hands shook slightly told her all she had been waiting for. Solona was a special mage. She had knowledge first hand of what lyrium did to templars. She had been the one that watched the old templar's slowly lose their minds to the continued use of a substance they were never meant to imbibe in the first place.

A fluttering of hope bloomed in her stomach and her mind had already set to work. She had not seen him with any lyruim. Her pack had only contained three of the addictive draught. How long until he succumbed to withdrawals? Solona had deduced easily enough that he was a templar that would not back down. Truly, had he been sent after someone else she might have been gracious enough to admire his tenacity. However, she had promised that she would never go back to the tower.

She knew how to escape.

It would not matter how closely he guarded her. It would not matter how hard he tired to fight off his own body. Solona knew that he was doomed to lose control of the situation. Time was a deadly weapon in the hands of a patient mage. Solona knew how to be patient.

She watched the templar stand guard over her prone form on the bedroll and smiled at the irony of the situation. He would need her skills to stay sane, or he would suffer the lyrium withdrawl in all its painful clarity. She granted that he would regain his memories after the experience because he did not look old enough to have suffered the permanent mind loss that came with extended years of exposure. She understood that his withdrawal would be exceedingly disorienting and painful though. Solona would bide her time for now.

She knew how to escape.


	8. Chapter 8

***Near tears* Oh thank you all so much for the reviews! I am glad that readers like the more detached Cullen. **

**Rated M, I own nothing, and please…**

**Enjoy!**

OoOoOo

She was watching him again. To say that it unnerved the pious swordsman would have been a gross exaggeration; Cullen would have called it more of an irritation. It bothered him that she would not shy away from his returning gazes. He disliked her open abandon in continuously monitoring him and for the life of him, he could not figure out what it was she hoped to accomplish.

It was getting harder to concentrate.

Cullen had looked inside the pack with dismay earlier in the morning. He knew from all of his exploits and his previous time upon the road that he would need to ration what precious little lyrium remained. This was not the first such occasion where he had been forced to rely on his templar discipline. The rules of this encounter where markedly different as he had no brethren to cling to should the first bouts of insanity start to creep upon him.

_How long ago was the last dose?_ His mind would whisper hauntingly in a haze of exhaustion. Blearily, he blinked his strained eyes at the rising sun. Cullen knew that he should have attempted sleep. However, he simply had been unable to drop his guard around the apostate. It had been in every fiber of his being that screamed in protest at the idea of showing any sign of vulnerability especially to a mage of all things.

It was getting harder to concentrate.

It had only made matters worse when the water skin had run out and they baked in the sun for the rest of the day. His lips were cracked and they throbbed with a dull pain that matched his side. Cullen had given some thought to his wound but it had proven too daunting of a task to remove his armor and check upon the healing flesh. He would not tolerate giving Mage Amell the satisfaction of seeing him in discomfort.

She had been wise enough not to say so much as a solitary word to him. Cullen understood that she was an intelligent mage when she remained blissfully silent. Her prompts to see his wound had ebbed and he had been grateful for the reprieve. His body trembled under the strain of the not so long ago events and the added burden of survival. The templar's thoughts all revolved around bringing his apostate ward to swift Chantry justice. He had little doubt that she would be placed in confinement for a period of no less than four months and provided that she had learned her lesson, her need for a constant templar escort out among the younger 'cursed' would only last two years.

_I cannot falter. Nothing short of sheer willpower and the Maker's grace can see me through this._ He vowed silently when he had glanced passively at the captive mage. His hands tightened in reflex around her lead and anger bubbled inside him. Cullen could not afford to lower his defenses around this apostate. She was cunning and tricky. He could not even begin to fathom how many had been harmed irrevocably by the likes of her. He knew with absolute certainty that she was without honor or pride as she was an apostate after all. Yet, a small part of him was forced to admit, that she had chosen to save him. The reasons behind that were unknown to him still.

It was getting harder to concentrate.

The cool evening air was thick and pungent with the smell of impending snow. Cullen growled low at the thought of further delays. He was aware that between the two of them, they had no suitable clothing or even sufficient rations. Cullen needed to find a Chantry. He had to find a safe harbor amongst the growing sea of despair and confusion that has sprung forth since Mage Amell's capture.

He steered them once more off of the now well beaten path and toward the seclusion of a small cave-like enclosure that was too shallow to truly have been called a cave. His gaze traveled the length of the earthen shelter. The cover was not large, but it would have to be enough. He glowered at the bound female whose eyes never left him. She was planning something; he was sure of it.

"Sit down." He ordered the mage gruffly. Amber eyes watched as she complied without grace or artifice to his demand. _Dangerous, _his mind whispered and he closed his eyes to will the thought away. He already knew she was deadly; he need not be reminded of it. His templar training would never let him forget the true nature of the beasts known as mages.

The low growling of half-starved stomachs drew his attention to the little amount of rations in the backpack. She had been prepared enough for one person, he grudgingly conceded, but the two of them had quickly depleted her meager offerings of food. His continence weakened as he understood that he would have to feed her if he intended to keep her bound. Cullen found it to be no surprise that his mood had darkened at the knowledge.

There were things Templars simply did not do, and it was fortunate for his prey, that feeding an apostate by hand was one of them. He glowered at the pain female before him. "I will untie you." He groused at her. "But it you attempt to run away, nay, if you attempt any sudden movements, I will make sure you live long enough to regret it."

Cullen almost cursed at her lack of apparent fear at his threat. She merely looked back at him with an odd expression torn between pity and wariness. Cullen found himself enraged at the thought she pitied him. She was blackened by the taint of magic just as badly as the Black City itself, and she had the unmitigated gall to pity him? He shook with barely repressed rage. Cullen was a determined templar with a long life of hunting down her atrocious kind; he did not need her pity!

"I understand." She replied tonelessly.

He deftly untied her hands and his eyes never left her visage. His thoughts jumbled on how effectively he would be forced to counter her attacks when the time arose. The templar was slightly relieved and disappointed that the mage did not move so much as a muscle.

Amber and hazel clashed and held as Cullen pulled out the few remaining morsels of food that would be divided between them. For all of its' insistence, the Chantry was well-known for forcing ideals such as chivalry. Cullen knew that chivalry was reserved for ladies and not female mages. There was a difference, and he adhered to that.

But she was human. She was female. Therefore, by definition that made her a lady; or perhaps, was she to be treated in a similar manner that one treated a woman of ill-repute?

It was getting harder to concentrate.

OoOoOo

Solona nibbled upon the stale bread quietly. She was watching the templar in a quiet sort of reverence. This was the first person she had come across that was not easily pigeon-holed into a set standard. For a templar, that had been an exceedingly hard thing to swallow. By definition of being a templar as she had always observed, they were the very essence of predictability. It had forever been shown to her just how far a templar could be pushed to the point of breaking. However, that having been said, each man was different and Solona could not shake the feeling that this templar was especially such a case.

What was she going to do?

Her eyes hooded themselves behind the curtain of her lashes, and she watched the man's sluggish motions. He was near the point of exhaustion, and she could read it in his face. She noted that his hands trembled more than they had yesterday and she knew for a fact that he had yet to take a dose of the lyrium. She licked her dry lips and was swiftly reminded that they had no water. Solona would need water soon as would her captor and she recalled that they were still a day's journey away from the closest river.

It was her opinion that his eyes still seemed to possess a self-awareness, but she was uncertain how quickly the withdrawals would cause there temporary madness. Would he fly into a rage? Would she be able to coax him into a delusion that made ample sense?

What was she going to do?

As quickly as her questions had come, she answered them in kind. Rage would be an expected outcome, but the further into the detoxifying process, the more docile he should become. Her limited experience garnered a glimpse of future possibilities. It was unfortunate that every templar was different. Solona admired this templar for his dedication. The quality invoked the barest twinges of respect. She could tell he was not necessarily a kind man, but he had not abused her past the first encounter and for that she counted herself fortunate.

They ate in silence. The night sky was darkened by the overhang of even darker clouds. Solona grew apprehensive at the understanding that rain would be upon them soon. Her attention flicked to the Templar that stood weary and sagging against the rock of the enclave.

"You should rest." She murmured, her stomach still begged for more nourishment, but she knew there was none to be had.

His gaze was cold and hard. The templar advanced on her, intent upon tying her up once more. Solona desperately searched her thoughts for any possible way to halt his actions. "Would you be so kind as to just tie my legs?" She tilted her head down to show shyness or embarrassment. "The restraints have harmed my skin." Solona presented her wrists as silent proof of her claim.

The templar neither looked, nor cared. His steps faltered slightly when he drew closer. Solona searched his face for a sign of his thoughts. Instead, she found him blearily blinking at her and his breathing was ragged. _He has reached the point of exhaustion._ She mused lightly, even though it was impressive that he had carried on for almost 48 hours without rest. A dangerous gamble to be made and she was never one to take risks.

"What have you done to me mage?" the waspish question was cut short as the templar sunk to his knees. The metal of his armor gave a resounding 'clink' as it hit the stone floor. Patience was a virtue Solona had always possessed. It had served her well on this endeavor.

"Me?" She quirked a brow in honest surprise. "I have done nothing."He tried in vain to summon his energy, but his overworked body denied the request. The templar was fainting by degrees in front of her. She could sense it.

"I'm warning you…mage…" He started. She watched in wry amusement as her captor slumped to the side and fell over.

What was she going to do?

As tempting as it was to run, and Solona wanted nothing more, she could not leave him here to perish. She could not say what kept her from walking away and never looking back. She was not a monster. She was just a woman and this person in front of her was seriously ill. Just like when she had first met him, she was powerless to walk away. How could she leave him to die?

The young mage rubbed a hand along her face. She would have to take him with her to the nearest village. That was the only logical way to go about this. Her other hunters where only Maker knows where, and he had no one. Her fingers twitched at the thought that he was completely alone without her. She should have left the first time, and now she was doubly damned.

_I may as well look at that wound._ She thought darkly. It took far longer than she would have expected to pry him out of his steel casing. Her eyes traced the features on his face as she studied him for signs of rousing. When she had found none, she lifted up his ruined tunic to expose the wound. She was not the most skilled at healing, but she knew first aid the injury was slightly inflamed. Solona pushed gently on the sewn edges and was pleased that no pus wept from the wound. Solona knew he was healing and that was important. She refused to save him, only to let him die now.

What was she going to do?

Her brain wracked itself on how to proceed. Things would be different this night. She would have to keep watch and she had very few resources at their disposal. To complicate matters more, he would go into withdrawals very soon. Her head snapped up and she crawled over to the pack which had been heavily guarded by her captor during his awakened state.

One little vial of crystalline blue liquid winked up at her. Unsteady hands, fraught with the effects of a nervous interior, gripped the potion tightly as she extracted it from the pack. A side-long glance at the still sleeping Templar told her that she had moved with enough silence. Nimble fingers uncorked the vial with excruciating slowness and she dared not drink the magic sustaining substance. Solona knew that imbibing the lyrium potion would create a spike in her magic that a highly trained templar, such as the one laying not three feet away, would detect.

She held her breath as she poured the contents onto the ground. The clever mage took great care to control the amount of noise that permeated from her deliberate sabotage. Her morals rebelled against such base trickery, but there were precious little options left to her. She could not take the chance that her captor could withstand a prolonged lyrium drought if he had all three potions at his disposal. She was not a wicked person by nature. She was only human and even though she knew the difference between right and wrong; she could not bring herself to go back to the tower.

Silently, she slipped the cork back into the vial and tossed the offending object as far as her strength would carry it. There was a muffled sound of shattering glass and she froze. The templar murmured and shifted in his sleep. Solona narrowed her eyes on his form and crept closer. That should have awoken him, but it did not. Curiosity once more got the better of the young mage as she peered down at her captor. His brown was covered in a fine sheen of perspiration. His cheeks were flushed and she watched with mounting dismay as his eyes shifted rapidly behind closed lids.

The lyrium withdrawals had already started. What was she going to do?

OoOoOo

The world came back to him the following morning. There had been a gentle push on his shoulder. Cullen had groaned at the intrusion upon his rest. He could feel the dry and scratchy sensation that emanated from his throat.

"You must wake up now." A female's voice cajoled him. It was not very warm, but it was not a hostile tone either.

Cullen cracked one eye open to see a face he didn't immediately recognize. _Where am I?_ He wondered. _Who are you_? His amber eyes were curios as they looked at the woman kneeling slightly over him. She appeared tired and worn.

"Am I late for morning prayers, Sister?" His voice came out raw and worried. Had he overslept again? It would not do for him to be late on the day before he took his vows as a templar! The Revered Mother had already promised him a position in Denerim with Knight-Commander Douwd. Cullen was nearly beside himself with glee at the prospect of protecting the people from rogue mages.

The woman blinked at him in surprise and the barest hint of a smile played at her lips. "No."

He weakly attempted a smile in return. "Then why have you woken me?" He quizzically asked. Was he assigned a new duty?

Whoever she was, she smiled at him warmer than the first time. "Because we need to get water, or we will be in serious trouble." Cullen stared at her for a moment. _Water? Why would we need fetch water when the cistern is just outside?_ But then his questions folded in on themselves. This was not the Chantry. He had been made a templar some six years ago. The woman before him was the wanted apostate Amell and they were out in the wilderness after his men had been brutally slain.

He pushed himself up and growled at the pulling sensation of his stitches. Once more, the mage was up to something it would seem. He shoved her away roughly and she toppled over onto her backside.

"Whatever you are planning apostate. I suggest you stop this instant." He snarled at her blank face.

Mage Amell stood calmly and brushed off the dirt that clung to her hindquarters. "If I were planning something, Ser templar, I would have left last night." Her voice told the story of her boredom and displeasure to his antics.

Cullen started for a single moment. His face paled at the recognition that she could have escaped him last eventide. His hands trembled and Cullen wished it was just from surprise alone. He knew better though. He had forgotten to take his dose of lyrium. Yet, even without it; how could he have fallen asleep while an apostate loomed free from her bindings? Cullen berated himself for what could have been the potential slaughter of hundreds.

His hazy thoughts shifted around the events last night. She had done nothing overly suspicious because everything she did was subject to scrutiny. Cullen hastily looked around the make-shift shelter and found his armor laying discarded at his feet.

He met her eyes with unparalleled fury that had the mage backing up a pace or two. "I only checked your wound." She tried to explain quietly. Cullen could not hear her for the blood that roared in his ears.

Cullen was furious and he was not even sure why. He stalked closer to the apostate who attempted to calm him with honeyed words and excuses. Blinded by his anger he smote her with a vengeance. The mage cried out in surprise as the magic was viciously gobbled whole by his energy. There was a metaphorical sort of pillage in the dance a templar and a mage shared. Cullen was without mercy for mercy was weakness in his eyes.

It was similar to having a rare moment of pure clarity. The magic he pulled from her helped clear some of the fogged reflexes and thoughts that twittered in his mind. He straightened at the horror that washed over him; the templar snapped his gaze to the backpack laying neglected between them.

Cullen need lyrium and he needed it now.


	9. Chapter 9

**Thank you thank you thank you! To all who read and reviewed. I will try my hardest to not be hit by the beast of writer's block again, but understandably , that will only go so far.**

**Rated M. I own Nothing. **

**I really hope you enjoy this chapter!**

OoOoOo

Solona watched the near panicking templar as he struggled to dig through her backpack. Her mind was muffled with the weariness that had been forced upon her. _A fit of rage._ She thought humorlessly. Her head ached and her veins throbbed with the loss of her magic. Truth be told, Solona had not mined the drain of her magic all that much. It would become a necessary evil once the two remaining lyrium potions ran out.

It was a little known fact; but one she had gleamed eagerly by watching the templar's train and her too few encounters with the lyrium-addled minds of the elderly. Lyrium was the lifeblood of magic and therefore magic could, with a similar efficiency, take the place of lyrium. Mage Amell was special; and in being special she had taken those rare opportunities to watch and bear witness to the effects of magic on the pious swordsmen. When a templar drained a mage, she had seen, the pilfered magic cleared their minds with the same startling cognizability as their forced addiction.

_There is a double meaning to circle after all._ Her thoughts had buzzed heavily at the discovery. A circle can also be synonymous with a cycle. In this regard, a templar became an even more potent instrument of death with every mage he drained. The Chantry, for all of its bigoted views, was a brilliant manipulator of circumstances and Solona feared them above all else.

She was one of the very few students that had taken time to research and delve into the events of the last exalted march against the adversaries of the Chantry. When her curiosity had been piqued watching the afore mentioned templars training. It had struck her as odd at the time, that each rank of templar's had been given a very powerful mage or several mages depending on the rank and station of the squadron. When she had witnessed the brightening effects of the stolen magic upon a templar; it had all fallen into sickening obviousness. Templars were the only beings in all of Thedas that could be so empowered by the presence of mages in battle.

She had been younger when the daunting knowledge had swept into her mind. Solona had been newly taken into the Circle of Magi and had been graced by sheer fortune to be nearly invisible to the walking statues the Chantry called guardians. Her anger and disgust had built into a driving need to leave the Tower. The Chantry might have fooled others, but they had not fooled her. The templars were an army and not just the protectors from mages that innocent façade would lead one to believe.

The crux of her scorn lay in the fact that Templars were little more than leeches. They used the Maker-given abilities of the 'cursed' as they called her kind, and yet they were the ones that denounced magic in its entirety. When she had seen the tale-tell signs of Lyrium withdrawal upon her captor, she thought him undeniably lucky; she knew in an instant he would need her. It would be the song of her magic that pulled him back from the void of madness. Solona could not let that service go without a price. Freedom seemed like a suitable exchange.

Solona looked at him with dispassion on the outside, but inside she trembled with a perverse sort of eagerness. The sooner he succumbed to the fits of mind-numbing pain and explosive anger, the quicker she would steer him into making mistakes that she would later use to her advantage. The first mistake he had already made all by himself. In the dawning horror that had followed in the wake of his abuse, her captor had downed an entire vial of lyrium. She heard the hum of energy soar inside him and she had been pleased.

Plans needed to be made. Options needed to be weighed.

She was not a bad person. She would get him help at the nearest village, but that was a very long ways away. The next place to find civilization was Ostagar or Lothering. Solona knew she had to drag out the journey long enough to have him go into full blown withdrawal. This was vital if she had any chance of getting him to move along with complacency brought about by his fractured psyche. She needed him docile so that she could escape as soon as she handed him over to the Chantry. _Well,_ she amended, _hand him over to someone else, who will take him to the Chantry._

Even though she had wanted to flee last night and the loss of her power groused at her for not doing just that; she could not have abandoned him to the wilderness with no chance of knew he would have succumbed to a slow and agonizing death from malnourishment or dehydration that even madness could not fight the pangs of. He might be a templar and her captor, but he did not deserve such a fate.

Solona saw him approach her, his eyes were an allurement as they burned brighter by the alchemy of the lyrium potion. His voice was quieter than she had ever heard it. Stark unease greeted her scrutinizing gaze. "What I did just now was uncalled for." His breath washed the traces of sweet magic over her.

She stared at him in surprise as she had been unable to mask it. "I… Do not let it trouble you." Her voice was strained with the ill-concealed shock. _How very interesting._ She traced his features with a neutral mask. Inside of her, thoughts whirled with vigor. She watched with keen interest as he nodded only once and proceeded to bind her again.

Plans needed to be made. Options needed to be weighed.

OoOoOo

Cullen felt the white-hot knife of embarrassment carve a path down his conscience. Even though she was a dangerous apostate, a menace to all things good and holy, and the object of his wrath for the needless death of his brethren; he had attacked her out of rage. It shamed him greatly. He was a Templar, the right hand of the Grand Cleric, and by proxy the Maker's will, in war, peace, or death. As a templar he had specific obligations and codes by which to conduct himself. Cullen had honor and pride. Neither of which he felt since the moment he had attacked his captive with more aggression than was warranted.

He narrowed his gaze at the bindings around her chaffed wrists. Mage Amell was a conniving criminal who had removed his armor when he was in a state of weakness. He allotted that some aggression would be allowed. His mind rebelled slightly as he recognized that she had not harmed him in any way. She had not run away when she had been given more than ample opportunity to do so.

Two sides of him battled in heated conflict.

Every fiber of his being cried out that he was a servant of the Chantry. He was a son of the Maker and dedicated to the subjugation of the deadly animals known as mages. It was his right and privilege to hunt them to the four corners of Thedas and bring them back to confinement with all of their fellow magic wielders.

Her magic, still lingered on the edges of his thoughts. The lyrium had been pleasingly cool and allowed all his ordered thoughts to come back into focus; but it was her magic that created a magnetism of kinder feelings from him toward her. Cullen found it eerie that she hardly ever changed expressions when it did not suit her. _Dangerous_. The tendrils of the templar teachings wrapped around his thoughts like a vise that refused to let go.

Templar Cullen could not read her face or voice past what she wanted him to see, but he could taste every emotion on her magic. He could hear her feelings from the thaumaturgic song he pried from her unwilling body. Cullen found reprieve from the full dose of the lyrium and a silent sort of alarm formed because he knew that in a heated moment he had failed to ration the precious resource.

Two sides of him battled in heated conflict.

Another precious resource that was needed desperately was water. Cullen recalled that Mage Amell had woken him for that exact reason. They had been traveling on the same road he had taken with his men from Ostagar. He was not very familiar with the surrounding area, but there had to be a water source here somewhere. It would be dangerous for both of them to go long without having the water skin filled. Sickening recollection of previous bouts with the dreaded withdrawal had only served to make sure that other such cumbrances like dehydration should be avoided at all costs. A templar's world was never out of order and Cullen grimaced as he knew that his was just the opposite of that.

It bothered him to no end that such a serious situation should arise while he was leading possibly the most conniving apostate in all of Thedas, back to the tower bereft of all assistance. She was watching him again and he gritted his teeth in anger once more. He knew she was waiting and something in the pit of his stomach told him she _knew._ It was a preposterous idea simply because there should have been no possible way for her to know what was occurring within him. Yet, all of his templar instinct and the way in which she monitored his movements lead him to believe otherwise. It could have been paranoia brought about by his sudden drop and surge in lyrium…

Two sides of him battled in heated conflict.

OoOoOo

She decided it was a pity she did not know how long he had truly gone without lyrium before this. If she had been privy to that information, she could have devised her plan with far fewer loose ends. Loose ends would be like nooses around her neck. She had little doubt that he would ration off the last remaining potion. She was forced to spend a fair bit of time coming up with a plausible excuse for why one such potion would have mysteriously vanished. Idly she pondered if tricking him into believing his mind had deceived him would be a viable option.

If not, it would come down to admitting the truth or fervently denying it to be spared what could be termed as a formidable rage. It would have been a lie to say she was not curious as to which one she would be forced to use. It could not be terribly long before she would be asked the question of its whereabouts. A shiver of trepidation was pushed aside.

But plans were meant to be adapted.

A much more secure feeling of purpose returned to the wily mage. Her few hours of pondering since their altercation this morning had born fruit aplenty. His fragile state of mind would grant her a plethora of opportunities. She was certain that she could bend his broken thoughts to buy a more pleasing reality. It grated upon her slightly that she would be, for all intents and purposes, mimicking a desire demon's agenda. Solona planned to shape a world for him that was believable but sweet. The mind was what dictated dreams from reality and in honesty she would just be forcing him to believe that his befuddled dreams were in fact, the truth. The false memories that she would weave for him would make it much easier to have him follow her and she hoped it would cause him the least amount of suffering. Solona had no intention of making him hurt needlessly.

The mage was sick to her stomach at using his very human needs against him. She was not a debauched sort of person by nature, but even if she had been inclined, it would be that tiny seed of respect that curtailed her plans from the option of forcing him to break vows that he had placed his whole being into. She would not use carnal delights to tempt or cajole him. That was despicable and she was not sure that she could live with herself if she should participate in such a low manipulation. Solona wanted her own life; she did not wish in any way to harm his.

However, she understood that companionship and love where things that everyone wanted. She was brutally honest even when it came to herself and she knew that she wanted such a thing as well. Her memories were teeming with past experiences of watching other people find comfort in one another while she watched from the background. Notice was a dangerous thing and one could not take a love interest without creating a lasting impression. Her very first plan of never being noticed had been flawless before now.

But plans were meant to be adapted.

Her bindings stung at the already flaking skin as they rubbed continuously without abating. The young mage puffed a breath of air to force stray strands of hair from her eyes. She had studied him for days now since their very first encounter and he was an enigma. Solona had never seen someone so dedicated besides herself and that impressive standard made her fear him. It was a healthy dose of fear after his little display this morning. However, it had not escaped her notice that he had not actually harmed her. Siphoning off her magic, while very uncomfortable and draining was not painful. She had concluded that somewhere, deep, deep, deep, down, there must be a gentle aspect of his personality. He had been almost uncharacteristically sweet when he had been gripped in the throng of confusion this morning. She mused that he had even alluded to an apology for his conduct. Templar's were supposed to be predictable and strangely, nothing about this one was.

But she would be patient and see where his next delusion would lead. If the opportunity arose she would be prepared to play the part of a lover, friend, or even sister. There were only two things she could not account for. The first was that her role depended solely on him. The second and more important matter was that there was a danger to giving him false ideas to soothe what would be his fractured mind. She had no way to know if he would believe her stories for one, and if he did believe them he might actually make them a memory for the other. Her captor held the possibility of believing that the fantasy she spun was the truth even after he gained his mind back.

It was a desperate game she played. Solona never took risks and part of her warned that this very well might be why she avoided them so adamantly. The greatest chance she was taking would be when the withdrawals were over and his true memories returned. She had no way to know what he would do or believe once he learned of her treachery. She felt a twisting sort of sadness for what she was compelled to do, but she swore she would never go back to the tower. She felt sadness for what would become of him.

She would cross that road when it came to it and not before because the variables were too numerous; but plans were meant to be adapted.

OoOoOo

The crystal clear lucidity had already started to fade. His wits were still about him in droves, but the unparalleled high had dissipated after a small passage of time. He noted that she had been silent again this day and Cullen could not stop the worry that crept into his heart. The stalwart templar did not know what he might do to the mage in his care if he could not fight off the lyrium withdrawal.

He prayed for her sake, that he could.

'A templar is a templar forever. ' That is what the revered mother told him the day he took his vows. He had been a dedicated student in the ways of the Maker and the Chantry. His whole purpose in life was to protect people from mages. Now, he had to worry over something completely different. Cullen worried over protecting a mage from himself. He would be well within his rights to terminate her and no one would question the act. It was a taboo sort of understanding that was never openly said, but heavily implied. Any templar was given the undeniable right to kill a mage. Necessity did not come into play in any instance.

He glanced back at her as the sun had started to set. He thought that she looked tired and for once her eyes were not depthless pools of reflection. He had little love of mages and very little love of this one in particular. Even if she saved him once and did the only noble thing he had ever witnessed her doing of not running off the second his back was turned; he did like her. Something about her magic and her eyes stuck in his mind's eye. He knew that she would never be able to blend into nothingness again. He would always remember her face, or more specifically her eyes. Maker knew they had stared at him long enough.

He sequestered them off by a patch of thinning pine trees that lay a stone's throw from the main road. Cullen gathered his bearings at the sight of the forked path off on the distant horizon. If he recalled correctly, there would be a stream in half a day's time where they both could take a much needed drink. His tongue felt oppressively dry in his mouth and he longed to change that. His side had begun to heal nicely as it had not hurt near as much on the journey this day. He shifted a glance to his captive and thought without malice that Mage Amell was at least good for something.

"Sit." He commanded, and he narrowed his gaze when she did so slowly.

"As you wish." She stated blandly. Cullen had wanted to avoid conversation as much as possible.

He bit back an oath and dropped the leash on her restraints. He dutifully rummaged through the backpack for the bed roll and flung it down on the ground below. The young templar was still exceedingly tired and he faced the task of staying awake again with grim determination. He stood next to her as she stretched out awkwardly on the bedding. His eyes focused on the darkness that had begun to settle on the land.

He heard the sounds of her stomach crying out for food and cringed inwardly. It was too late now to look for food and he had been so wrapped in his thoughts that he had simply forgotten all about it. He straightened slightly and refused to look at her. A missed meal or two certainly would not kill the apostate. She should be glad he shared the last of the food with her previously.

"We could take turns with keeping watch." Her eyes bored into his with bored exasperation.

"No." He returned with forced neutrality. Cullen found her attempts to lure him into a state of weakness beyond maddening. He was a templar and she a renegade mage whom he had caught running from the Circle. What part of their relationship was unclear to her? He would never allow her the upper hand in anything. She would likely turn tail and run again.

"Why not?" She raised a brow at him mockingly. "Are you afraid I will run?" He paused in spite of himself and he had thought for a moment she had ghosted a smile at him. She snorted lightly in distaste. "If I was going to run I would have done it last night."

He gritted his teeth in start irritation. She was stirring up his emotions again. He was still distrustful as to why she hadn't fled from him. Nothing about her made sense and even though mages were a cunning lot, her trickery had yet to follow any sort of logic. She was up to something and as soon as he knew what is was, she would be punished for it.

"Sleep mage." He growled at her.

"I'm afraid I never learned how to sleep on command." Her voice made an attempt at brevity. Cullen was not amused and had very little patience for her this evening.

"Are you trying to anger me apostate?" His voice was deathly calm and he watched as she tensed slightly. The warning lay clear between them.

Her voice was quiet and a bit reserved. "You will exhaust yourself again if you try to go without sleep. We have a long journey before we get back to the Tower and you cannot go the entire distance without getting some rest."

It irked him that she was reasoning with him. It angered him even more because she was correct. The templar in him demanded that he stick to keeping watch and keeping an ever-vigilant eye on her. The man in him needed sleep and could not function without it. "That is none of your concern." Cullen glowered at her fiercely.

"It is my concern." She retorted, cautious to keep her tone polite and respectful. "You are all the protection I have." She stated simply as she looked at him without guile. "I have not forgotten what people think of my kind, Ser."

Something wriggled in his chest as it attempted to break free. A long forgotten vow that was sworn at the feet of the revered mother on the day he took up the mantle of being a templar. He had promised to protect mages as well. It sickened his stomach to have promised such a hefty burden. Cullen was meant to protect innocent people from the wicked curse of magic.

"I will not tell you again, apostate. Go to sleep." He demanded and he felt her magic twitter nervously at his aggression. The coquettish song of her magic echoed in his senses as he resolutely turned his gaze from her. He swore he would bring her back to the Circle, back to the stone walls of the tower, where she would stay.

He prayed for her sake, that he could.


	10. Chapter 10

**I thank you all for the reviews! You have no idea how much they mean to me. I hope you have an enjoyable experience reading! **

_**Ok just to explain a little, Cullen is going to start going through withdrawals here so his attitude is going to shift just a bit. Keep in mind he is not suddenly going to fall head over heels for her; now if you were reading closely, you will remember that Solona is not a expert herbalist at most she would be at the rank of improved herbalism that you get at level 4 so the most potent potion she can make is standard lyrium and health poultices as opposed to the lesser. So when I previously mentioned her using one of the more potent I meant the standard strength. Because of that, the effects of the lyrium are not going to last as long as they would with say a potent lyrium potion which I am taking artistic license to say is one full dose.**__**Now, keep in mind that Solona only alludes to having witnessed the befuddled older templars on occasion. While she believes that she knows exactly what happens, she in fact does not. If you get confused send me an PM and I will explain it to you in more detail, otherwise….**_

**Rated M, I own nothing.**

**Who loves Cullenx Amell? That's right….I do.**

OoOoOo

Cullen fought the growing urge to snap at the apostate. She had yet to go to sleep even though he had told her to do so twice now. _Twice_, his mind hissed, _and she willfully disobeys._ His mouth was pressed into a grim line of dissatisfaction that bordered on odium. He had not succumbed so much as once, this evening, to the foolish notion of looking at her. There was simply no need for such a frivolous diversion, which would allow the mage an opportunity to speak to him, to be indulged. Cullen was a very determined man and he knew for a fact that she did not have the ability to break his resolve.

He knew this mage was cunning.

He blinked hardened eyes at the stretch of inky blackness before him. Cullen understood that a lone Templar out in the middle of this untamed wilderness stood very little chance of guarding his captured prize if opposition should arise. They were cloaked in the velvet darkness because a campfire was too risky, to put it mildly. Cullen knew all about tactics and locations; both of which he was loathe to relinquish. His thoughts had never strayed far from the question that plagued his every waking hour. _How quickly would she turn against me If the opportunity presented itself?_

He straightened himself when he realized that he had started to slouch a bit from the ever constant weariness that stole parts of his will away like a thief in the night. Years of training and experience carried him now. It was all of his hard work, all of the blood, all of the sweat, and Cullen's sense of duty that shrouded him from the bitter doubts that slithered in the back of his mind; they needed to be quelled.

She shifted from her awkward position on the bedroll, and Cullen reprimanded himself for allowing his attention to wander off of the deadly creature laying not three feet away. The creature with the hazel eyes that stared at him with such tenacity that he scorned them immediately. He gritted his teeth as memories flashed unbidden through his mind of his latest capture. He abhorred the fact she had saved him and not joined the fray when the blood mage had murdered his templar brothers. He was disgusted that she brought out the wicked points of his temper. He viewed with rancor her seeming calmness and the fact that she did not employ the usual tricks for attempts to gain freedom. He knew what she really was, hidden behind that innocuous face; she was an evil-minded mage and it was his duty, nay, his privilege to bring her to justice.

He knew this mage was cunning.

He bore feelings of such malice toward her that it shook him. The templar in him howled to the Maker of her evils and her wretchedness. She was _mage_; the cursed dark beings that wove songs of destruction that echoed in the hearts of men. His newest ensnared apostate rubbed the Chantry raw by even existing. Cullen was overcome with feelings of the morose nature because has she chosen not to escape, he never would have been sent after her. Had he never been sent after her, the templar knew his men would still yet live.

He despised the way the song of her magic still played softly on his energy. He doubted she knew that her magic teased his templar senses. Cullen wanted nothing more than to silence the swelling hum of her enchanted nature because it made it impossible to ignore her. He was too disciplined to truly ignore her, for she was a threat to everything around her. Cullen was a determined man and he forced himself to quell the unbidden want for lyrium that danced upon his tongue begging to be quenched. He hated that she unintentionally dominated his thoughts.

The man in him whispered softly, with feelings that rivaled the sweet song of her magic, that subjugated human before him was not the black-hearted monster that had slain his friends and brothers-in-arms. Cullen the man was baffled at her lack of ploys and diversions. What damned him the most was the fact she had saved him. The man in him pleaded that she was human and perhaps she deserved a modicum of gentleness. Surely he could spare her a moment of kindness as thanks for his life? But there were certain things that Cullen could not do. He was a templar out here in the wilderness as he watched the mage in his custody.

He was puzzled far beyond what would have been acceptable and he knew that. He loathed mages and all they stood for; and then she stumbled upon him and made him remember what it was to be human. To be human and not an instrument in the holy war against magic unsettled him. Cullen had forgotten what it meant and he was bewildered that a _mage_ of all things had sought to remind him.

He knew this mage was cunning.

OoOoOo

Solona had awoken to the rough nudge of an armored boot. She knew immediately that her watchman was the culprit. She gazed at him with slight irritation, for she had been far more considerate in when she had roused him the previous morning. The mage already had the knowledge that manners unnerved her fine captor, and so she sought to test the waters of his mood. She needed to know if he was already starting to regress back into the lyrium withdrawals, or if she would have to wait longer. Solona never minded exercising her patience for she had all the time in the world. A few days to her were negligible.

"Good Morning, Ser." She broached softly.

The hard and unforgiving eyes of a Templar stared back at her with mute distrust. Solona had all the confirmation she required. He was still well within the bounds of his own mind it would seem. She vaguely thought it admirable that he guarded himself so well. A few tense moments of staring were abated when he gave the barest hint of a nod in acknowledgement. She gave a genuine smile of encouragement, small though it was. Her eyes hooded when she saw him narrow his own amber orbs at her display.

She gracelessly picked herself up off of the bedroll and knelt beside it. Her bound hands grasped the edge of the luxury and rolled it tightly for she had intended to stow it away in the pack. Her sentry had other ideas and held out one hand in expectation. She placed the bedroll in his hand and he made a noise of irritation. Solona watched as he grabbed her leash instead with his other hand. _How odd_. She mused in confusion. Her eyes sought his out and she was met with the same conclusion as before, he was well within the realm of sanity, but he had acted out of character and it sent her mind into a dizzied spin.

The pangs of a long denied stomach yowling with hunger forced her to place the formidable task of understanding the templar, aside. Hunger won over curiosity as was it's right. Solona attempted a look at the glaring foreboding man in front of her. She was aware that they had no food nor had they attempted to gain any since they had met. Solona wondered briefly if the templar knew how to forage or hunt; the thought was discarded rapidly as it was extremely unlikely he had survived so long without at the very least a basic knowledge of the acts.

She arched one brow at the templar's stomach's answering call. "Shall we find food to break our fast Ser?" she asked clearly amused.

The said male stared at there for a very long heartbeat before he chose to reply. "Yes. We do require rations." His mouth thinned into a terse line. "However, what is most vital is water."

Solona nodded her head in agreement to the plan, for she did approve of anything in the way of preparing for the future. "If I remember correctly, there should be a stream no more than an hour's walk from here to the north." She already knew what he was thinking. By going to the north, more than the northeast, they would add some time to their journey and it could be a trap. Solona discreetly kept her thoughts to herself. She would have readily pointed out that it served her no purpose to deny herself water. She was a wise woman in her own rights and she knew the value of silence.

"Should you try to escape…" His threat hurled through the air like a spear. "Returning to the Circle of Magi will be the least of your concerns apostate." He spat her title like a curse. She was smart enough not to take offense to his statement. She knew he was trying to rile her into a disagreement that could escalate into an altercation. _Fits of rage already? He hasn't been that long without a dose._ Her mind confided to her innermost worries.

Horror dawned swift and cruel upon the young mage. Her mind flurried about as her eyes darted to his face. _He could not be that old, could he?_ _He could not have been that long upon the lyrium._ Had she already miscalculated? Solona scolded herself for a haphazard plan such as this. What else could have explained why he angered so quickly? She hurried to stand worry and concern etched deeply in her face. This was not the time for a cool mask for she had to know how long he had been slave to the Chantry. If she had been originally correct, then his withdrawal would be two to three weeks at most. However, she admitted as her heart lurched, if he had been on it for several years…

Maker, she had not planned this well enough.

She looked pensively at the templar. Her body showed resignation and agitation, she knew it. If…he was older or had taken vows younger than she had first anticipated; she had no way to know how long the withdrawals would actually last. The mage had formed an assumption in her mind that recovering from lyrium would be a kin to recovering from a bout of poison. How could she have been so foolish? Solona understood that this could progress in a far different fashion than she had hoped. She had been prepared to sacrifice most of her magic to feed the broken mind of this templar, but this was too soon for her to have recovered the majority of her magic from the multitude of cleanses. Solona had watched him imbibe a full lyrium potion and if that had only lasted him little over a day; then how much of her magic would he need? How much would be too much and bring him back from the void of insanity? The uncertainties tussled with her thoughts in growing frequency. There was so much she did not know about lyrium withdrawal.

Maker, she had not planned this well enough.

Memories, strong and sorrowful, breeched her decent into the depths of self-pity. She had witnessed the old and feeble templars ' pain and crippling loneliness as they wandered the path of broken memories combined with madness. The young mage had been moved by their plight, but being part of the background meant never giving in to a moment of human compassion. She had stood there mimicking the statutes of Andraste as the babbling men called out for phantoms of their past and broken dreams. Solona drew a quick breath and held it to calm herself. She regretted, for the second time, pouring out the lyrium to hurry the progress of his madness. She had condemned him to a fate as bad as the tranquil, even if the period of time was remarkably smaller. For the briefest moment her eyes stung as she gazed at her captor.

Maker, she had not planned this well enough. She was only human after all, but her mind taunted her for she knew this was exactly the reason she did not take risks.

OoOoOo

The mage was acting strangely and Cullen focused his energy; ready to spring upon her should she turn into an abomination without warning. He noticed, with worry, that her deep and watchful eyes were full of emotions that he had never seen come from anyone; directed at him. He wanted to snarl at her to look away or demand what she was plotting, but all he saw were her ordinary hazel eyes glistening. For a moment he had been certain she was near tears.

Cullen did not know what to make of that.

Unease danced inside of him and mingled heavily with his gnawing stomach. "Are you ill apostate?" He coldly asked. Cullen was a man who knew his prey well, but not his one, and he felt that this could be a trap. His templar training screamed that this mage could already be demon possessed. That same training brought to the forefront of his mind all his experiences with abominations and blood mages. The screams of his men ghosted in his ears as he stared at the Mage called Amell.

Her eyes snapped away from his and she looked at him again with the same detached awareness she had possessed since their first meeting. "I am well." She tonelessly replied.

Cullen did not believe her for even one breath of time. "Truly?"

Her back stiffened and she gave a surreptitious tug on the restraint which he held. Cullen's fingers tightened around her lead out of reflex. "Yes, of course, Ser. Why would I not be?" Her face was the portrait of an aloof exterior.

Cullen did not know what to make of that.

They marched dutifully forward in silence until they heard the sounds of running water. Cullen's body was weary and his reserves of strength were fading. At the first sweet sound of rushing water his pace had quickened and he had taken a stumbling apostate behind him with all the haste he possessed.

"Could we, perhaps, slow down?" The request from his captive caused him to look back at her for a moment. His thoughts were muddled from lack of sleep and water. He wondered in confusion why he had put the deadly creature at his back. He sorted his thoughts and promised himself that he would never let her be at his weak point again. Why it had not occurred to him that she could have harmed him from such a pivotal position, he did not know.

"You will be able to rest soon enough." He bit out angrily. Cullen was frustrated at his inability to focus and desperate need for water. It had been so long without the life-giving liquid that anticipation ran hotly within him.

"Please!" Her cry halted him mid-step because it had been followed by a whimper of pain. Cullen slowly turned to face the mage, who in stared at her wrists.

Cullen watched her warily as he came closer toward her. He could see the discomfort on her average face and his steely resolve crumbled slightly. His gauntleted hand reached out and gingerly moved the strap that lay across her wrists. A large angry red welt glared back at him with skin that was peeling and small droplets of blood where the abused flesh had given way to the hard leather. If he had been privileged to still have been in possession of his manacles, she would not have suffered this small amount of pain. It disquieted him to have hurt her. Even if she was an apostate, a cursed being of the Maker's anger, and a conniving being; he did not take particular pleasure in being cruel. He was cruel only when the situation warranted it, and she had been docile since her capture. Something in him rebelled against the proof of his indifference, reversible though it was.

"You should have said something." He muttered angrily at her. His gaze turning scornful and harsh.

She looked at him in frank disagreement. "I did." She stated, tilting her head to the side and her face angled to look up at him. Cullen felt that same _something_ in him twitch as the first sweet strains of her captivating magic brushed across his senses.

Cullen did not know what to make of that.

His silence prompted her to continue. "If you recall, I told you that my restraints where chaffing my skin on the first night we started traveling together." Mage Amell stated blandly, but Cullen caught the hint of wry amusement hidden in her words.

The templar detached himself from the situation and pushed the growing familiarity with this apostate to the depths of his mind. He resented that she made it sound as if they were companions instead of hunter and bound prey. He was an instrument of the Maker and she played the song of Thedas's downfall. The mage before him was dangerous and deadly. _How many times have I had to remind myself now?_ He pondered with alarm.

"Come along Mage Amell." He commanded quietly and once more she followed him, though he had been considerate enough to slow the pace to one that was more manageable for her. _Why?_ He could hear the question as clearly as if Knight-Commander Greagoir was standing right next to him. _She is just a filthy apostate. More useless than moss that grows upon the rocks. She is less than human, regardless of what she claims!_ Years of teaching, years of dedicated study and practice rigidly erected themselves in his mind. Cullen knew the Chantry was infallible. Mage Amell was not worth an ounce of consideration, but as the haziness started to cloud his thoughts again; he wasn't so certain about that fact anymore.

Cullen did not know what to make of that.

"Solona." Her voice cut into his muddled war of duty versus decency.

"What?" He snapped out at her in confused irritation. Cullen had considered her smart before for keeping silent and he wished mightily that she would choose to be so wise again.

"My name is Solona." She remarked conversationally. Her tone was above reproach and Cullen disliked that she further exacerbated the situation by acting civil. His jaw tightened at the use of her given name. He was a templar and she was a mage, therefore, the only logical thing to do was to call her by her title…Mage Amell. "What is your name, Ser? I don't believe you have ever mentioned it."

"No. I have not." He growled lowly in warning at her. A slight tug on her restraints forced a soft yelp from her lips and Cullen waited with baited breath as she grew silent. Cullen spied the cool running water with a flush of happiness and relief. He took solace in the fact that even if it came to the worst possible situation between him and his current predicament; he would not die from thirst. When the water skin was filled, and they had both drank to near bursting; Cullen had lead them off in search of food. The mage had been useful in finding edible nuts and a few trees bore fruits that he easily plucked and kept for later use. He felt satisfied at the knowledge that they would eat this night, even if it was not very varied.

OoOoOo

Solona was not pleased with the pitiable state of her wrists. So far, she had been vastly pleased to discover that he was not being gripped by the madness yet. She concluded that he had been in a foul mood earlier; most likely caused by dehydration as she herself was not acting as she otherwise would. It wore upon her to have to keep seeking holes in a plan that could not be completed due to lack of knowledge. She was very gifted in memory, and she knew from the scenery alone that they had come down from the forested area into the flat plains that bordered the Brecillian forest. It signaled that they were on the correct path toward Ostagar and Lothering.

She had strengthened her determination to see him through to Lothering, which possessed a Chantry that would see to the needs of her captor with relative ease. Solona had already decided upon this course of action, but it never harmed her to reiterate her plan. It was two part, the reason that she did this, one part was to help her find courage, and the other part was to remind herself that there was an end in sight.

She would never go back to the Tower. She would have a life that did not require her to fade into the background. Solona wanted a chance at a life, a _real_ life, where there would be time to build a home and a family. Why didn't templars understand how much mages were forced to give up? Solona envied them for being able to choose their life; while mages were forced into a mocking form of imprisonment the Chantry had the nerve to call a safe haven for her kind. She was an ordinary woman and felt anger as easily as any other.

Still, anger had no place in her plans just yet. There would be a grim satisfaction when she eluded the hunters for a year, but not now. Not, when she was in the clutches of one such hunter who was as tenacious as a mabari with a hunk of meat. Solona had gotten ahead of herself once before and it had cursed her with a templar and the loss of her horse. She wryly wondered what had become of the dumpy cream mare. She noted with that her hunter's trembling had started again.

Three days later, Solona faced the conversation she had dreaded for so long. She had watched him try to sneak sips of the last precious vial of lyrium at eventide for that length of time. The young mage wondered if he thought the action would be unnoticed by her. It was a very offending thought for twice now; she and her captor had been forced to sleep rather closely to each other as his stubbornness had given way to reason. She knew he could not carry on forever without rest and he had grudgingly acquiesced to her subtle promptings. The mage had been amused when the templar had decided that tying her restraints to his own wrist as a means of preventing her escape. She knew better than to comment on the ludicrous thought process however, when he lay down next to her and they had slept as the only two people in the dormant grass of the plains.

"Apostate." The snarl drew her from her wistful fondness of that first night. Solona glanced up to find her still unnamed captor, whose face was painted in a mask of barely restrained fury.

"Yes?" She answered carefully void of any emotion except boredom. She composed herself while her mind had tittered that he looked ready to throttle her_. _

"Where is it?" He marched toward her with deliberate slowness that had her nervous and just the tiniest bit frightened.

She moved her gaze to look at his eyes, tilted her head to show confusion and widened her eyes just a bit to allow the look of confusion to be mimicked. "Where is what?" She laced her voice with false bewilderment.

Her captor bared his teeth at her and Solona thought that he looked very much like a crazed animal. "Don't play coy with me mage." He barked at her. His agitation had grown at her question. "There were three lyrium potions in this bag." She looked at him quizzically. "One was used four days ago, the other I have just finished, and now I cannot find the _third_." He hissed at her menacingly. "Where is it?"

Solona had seen it a thousand times before from the other female mages that had been caught by the templars in the tower. She furrowed her brow, dropped her gaze to the bag, and looked on in surprise. "I don't understand, Ser." Solona stated calmly, her voice coated with confusion.

Her captor hauled her roughly to her feet. She saw the glazed look in his eyes and the feverish flush of his cheeks. _He is in withdrawal. _She ascertained. Her mind played his previous symptoms against these ones with a mirror-image of results. She knew he was feverish; his hands shook as they gripped her bound arms, and he was incited easily into anger. "Don't lie to me!" He bellowed at her.

She trembled with fear in earnest now. She knew she could use her magic to defend him if it came down to it, but he would siphon off her magic again and then she would be back where she started. She understood that this was a vital moment and she needed to control the situation before it got out of her sphere of influence. "I am not lying." She lied. She pushed her voice to possess the calmness she did not feel.

"Liar!" He snarled and shook her. As her world rocked back and forth with his force; she saw that his face twitched with what she could only guess was pain. She very nearly smiled in relief. Pain held powerful opportunities that would help her stabilize his unraveling mind.

She channeled a bit of her magic, a soft sweet melody of reassurance, and pushed it into him. He stopped his physical abuse on her person. "Sh." She whispered soothingly as his muscles tensed and his face contorted in rage. "I'm just trying to help you." Solona watched him search her face. The last part had been almost the wholly the truth. She saw his face relax just slightly and she knew whatever he was looking for he must have found.

"I-I…" The templar looked at her with such pained confusion that, for a single moment, her heart ached because of it. "Where is the lyrium potion?" He asked quietly after some time. Solona lowered her head and stared at her lap. She felt damned one way or the other. She prayed that he could forgive her once he found out what she would do to him.

She would never go back to the Tower.

"There wasn't a third one." She slowly placed one hand on his arm and he flinched away from the contact. She had not wanted to lie to him outright, but she _had_ to make him believe her. Everything she was doing hinged on him needing her, and she had to have that happen. _Maker, forgive me._ She prayed silently as she wove a net of deception on the fracturing mind of the templar.

His eyes glared at her once more and she took in the still glazed look of madness that clung to his haunted amber orbs. "Yes, there was. I know there was. I remember a third one." He stated through clenched teeth.

She shook her head at him sadly. "No, Ser, there wasn't." Her voice sounded to her ears like honeyed poison. Her heart hammered in her ears as she watched the seed of doubt take hold. She knew he was confused and unable to think clearly. She was certain he never would have assaulted her otherwise. Solona would never have called herself conniving until this very moment and she hated the coppery taste of disgust it left in her mouth.

He looked down for a moment and back up at her. She watched his hands tremble again and noted only half-aware that she had not given him enough magic to stop the physical symptoms. "I'm not certain anymore. I cannot remember things clearly." He rasped out in a voice that sounded lost and alone. Solona soothed him like a mother consoled a hurt child. She touched a hand to his face and murmured words of comfort.

"I will not leave you." She said with all seriousness. Her gaze caught the look of the man that stood in silent agony before her.

"No." He muttered starting to show more confusion. "I…have to take you back to the tower." He grabbed her hand tightly as if to keep her from running away. The templar in him regained temporary hold and she stared at him passively.

"I know." Solona cajoled quietly. "I'm not going anywhere without you." She could not leave him. She knew that already and though the task seemed insurmountable, she would stay by his side until they got to Lothering, where they would part ways and his addled brain would not comprehend where she had gone.

"You are attempting to trick me into letting you escape." He snarled at her, but it lacked the certainty he usually had. Solona was dismayed that he was more in control than he had been moments ago.

"Templar." She stated his title with exasperation and worry. "Have I tried to run away from you even once?" _I don't deny I am trying to trick you._ She thought sagely, she would not lie to him more than was needed. Lies were hard to keep track of and Solona hated loose ends.

His brow furrowed and he gazed pensively at the ground. She knew her words had struck true when he uttered "I still don't trust you."

"You will." Solona replied knowingly. He would trust her because he had no choice. She had drawn a hard line between them in her mind. She was an average woman and completely unremarkable in every way. She did not need to rush the madness anymore because her captor was caught in its' grasp with only the allurement of her magic to guide him…right where she wanted him.

"I might hurt you." He whispered forlornly and the evening moonlight lit his hair softly. Solona reached out and touched his arm once more in comfort. This time he barely flinched.

"You might." She conceded quickly. "However, I think it would be less likely to occur if you would untie me."

He snapped his head up and glared at her. "No." He thundered at her. Solona raised a brow in surprise.

"Would you condemn me to be defenseless against your training?" She asked guileless for the first time in their conversation.

She knew she had lost the argument the moment he reached for the backpack. She watched with mounting frustration as he pulled out the well-worn bedroll and spread it on the ground. The young mage uttered not a single word of complaint as he ordered her to go to sleep. She laid down on the meager padding from the hard earth and heard him start to take off his armor in order to lay next to her. They never touched because that was a taboo neither of them was willing to breech. She knew that touching an arm was a platonic gesture, but to touch at night while they lay next to each other seemed intimate, and she understood that would have been harmful to them both.

She would not go back to the tower; she swore it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you for the reviews. I am ashamed to say I got kicked in the pants basically to get into gear by an anonymous review asking what had happened to me.**

_**Also just as a story note, based off of the game when you meet the Arlessa's brother in Arl howe's dungeon; he doesn't seem to remember just about anything except his duty. He doesn't really seem to notice what he wears and clings to his delusion where he believes you are his sister (if you are the female character). So therefore, I am taking artistic license on how the delusion can be prolonged or played into…yadda yadda. **_

**Uh…sorry about that. *embarrassed chuckle* I was also asked to not discontinue the stories, so I won't. Not really a fan of the holidays this year, but let's work with that!**

**I own nothing and….enjoy.**

OoOoOo

Solona had woken to the sound of pained whimpers in the darkness. The strange and saddened sound caused her plain hazel orbs to glimpse out in the velvety darkness. Her thoughts had been muddled previously by the still ebbing anchors to the fade. The every shifting realm of the fade had always offered her the time needed to truly plan. No matter the circumstance of the outside environment, the Fade would forever be a place of solitude. _Provided one remains vigilant against the demons._ She somberly amended.

She moved her gaze over the trembling form of the templar beside her. His skin radiated an attractive warmth against the otherwise crisp air of the night. She watched his face contort in pain and what she could have only assumed was fear. The barest hints of a twinge of pity echoed silently within the young woman. Solona was not an unfeeling person, far from it; she often had cursed her more vulnerable nature. That said nature would have been more of a hindrance if she had not spent countless days and months suppressing the dangerous emotions. Emotions that she had since allowed to run rampant and her carelessness had forced her into unwilling submission to a servant of the Chantry.

She shifted her weight to her side and rolled closer to the templar when his whimpers turned to groans. Solona struggled for a few heartbeats to force her body to twist so that she could sit. The task proved to be immensely more difficult than it should have been because even gripped in the throngs of encroaching madness, her capture did not forget to tie the end of her leash to an object she could not move. It had been as such for several nights now. Solona would wake to the inky darkness at the templar's distress and she would sooth him.

What was this templar doing to her?

This night, she had thought, would be no different from the others. Her slightly chilled hand brushed a sweat-dampened lock of hair from his face. She mused that her captor was a comely man. Solona had critically appraised the man's features with the same meticulousness she prided herself on. A soft hum of assurance escaped past her lips. The templar relaxed into her hand despite its wintry temperature. She knew what he needed to keep the worst of the deranged fade-induced monsters of his dreams at bay.

The sweet song of magic had wrung from her body when she focused it on the tips of her fingers. Solona took a small solace in the familiar light of the incantation. She understood in moments like this, what a gift it was to be a mage. She knew the beauty of being part of something that was far greater than her. Even when faced by such calming beauty, she knew to keep focus on her task at hand. The young mage traced her fingers along the templar's face and watched with mild interest as his energy greedily lapped at the magic. She could feel his essence devour her own in an imitation of a caress. Her thoughts and feelings had drifted to the sensation of his skin underneath her fingertips.

Solona conceded that he had been far more stubborn than she had accounted for. Her hunter had refused to accept so much as a smidgen of help from her in anything. It had been both frustrating and admirable to the mage. She had only a smattering of conversations with him since the night her first real web of lies had been cast. Still, the bitter pangs of doubt and regret blurred within the bounds of determination and pride. Solona was by no means a very powerful mage. She was not overly cunning, just pragmatic in her choices. Yet, none of her choices concerning her captor had been pragmatic.

What was this templar doing to her?

She understood that it was not her way of things to leave loose ends. To her, that made complete and irrevocable sense. But, how then, could she explain her decision to wander possibly further into the clutches of the Chantry, just to keep him safe? She was human, she was average, and Solona knew these things with a sense of certainty that gave her comfort. It was that brief respite that granted her the strength to go over the endless options and choices she had already made. All of her actions toward him screamed in mute witness of her want to protect this templar. What she could not fathom no matter how long or hard she puzzled the turn of events, was why.

She should never have stopped to satisfy her curiosity. She should never have deferred from the original plan; but she knew she had. She had healed him out of a sense of human compassion. She would not abandon him now out of that exact same sense. She hoped she was right. Was it compassion that would still govern her actions? Or was it, as often happens when one takes care of a sick thing, that Solona felt the first coils of affection tighten around her heart?

What was this templar doing to her?

The affection was not strong. She understood that it was not even close to love. How could it have been? She knew that her knowledge lacked even the basest understanding of this templar. It was a scenario riddle with danger and fraught with any number of unresolved problems. Solona remembered that she did not even know the pious swordsman's name. She had thought of some purely ludicrous tangents in her life time, but to condone affection toward someone whose sole purpose in life was to stand as a weapon in the hands of the most aggressive faith on Thedas? It was inconceivable to her. Perhaps, she mused without humor, the madness was contagious. In any other instance, it would have been only natural considering that in any good plan all options had to be weighed or played out in full. Solona understood that where she was perched on the cusp of affection and indecision was very dangerous ground to tread.

Her confused gaze had landed on the peaceful sleeping form of her captor; whom had been soothed back into the embrace of the fade. His skin felt warm under her fingertips and there in the infinite darkness and solitude that surrounded the pair; Solona could not stop her mind from wondering.

What was this templar doing to her?

OoOoOo

It was the shrill trilling of the lark that had brought Cullen back from the depths of sleep. Amber eyes, glazed over without recognition stared vacantly at the bright rays that filtered through the trees. No so much as a muscle had moved for several moments. The templar lay in surreal form of stasis, which had only lasted for as long as no movement had been rendered. At the shifting of his form; he first became aware of the pain that wracked his whole body. Then he was very confused because when he had searched his mind, he could not remember what could have occurred to cause him such agony. His entire body felt as if it had been greedily licked by pins and needles. Cullen had clenched his jaw only to hiss in even more discomfort from the motion.

The man felt so hot. His skin was so tight he had been astounded to find that it had not burst in several places. Cullen fought the growing rebellion of his stomach, against what he could not recall. He groaned slightly. Something in him seemed to take the pain in stride. It was as if he had been in pain a great number of times before. Had he been? Where was he? Had something happened?

"Sh." A voice some part of him dimly recognized washed over him. "Sh." It was a woman, which was all he could tell.

Cullen whimpered slightly at the knowledge that he was not alone. _Why would I think I was alone?_ He wondered vaguely but the answer eluded him. The thick mist of befuddlement permeated every thought. His mind existed in half thoughts and even less was understood. All Cullen knew was he was awake and he took delight in knowing that he was not left a drift in a sea of pain. He knew his body was trembling for each jarring shiver sent a fresh wave of agony slicing through him.

A soft touch on his forehead grasped his attention to the source. There was a woman staring at him with concern in her gaze. _I know her. _Did he? He knew this woman, that same part of him argued, but Cullen could not place her face. She was pretty; he thought quickly, or rather she was not ugly, but pleasing enough to the eye.

Who was this woman?

"It's alright." The unnamed woman cajoled at him sweetly. _Where am I? What happened?_ The man had thought with growing panic and confusion.

"Wh-what happened?" This seemed to be the most pertinent question to Cullen. If he knew what happened, it would most likely shed light on why he was here and who this mysterious woman was. _Did I fall in battle?_ The question broke a wave of memories that were hot and strong. Memories that lamented the screams of men whose faces he couldn't place. There had been so many memoires of battle and death.

Curious hazel flicked to his and they watched him with such frank openness that Cullen found himself unnerved. This female was openly studying him and he had no idea why. _Dangerous_. A small voice whispered in his mind. Dangerous? This woman? He wrinkled his face in contemplation. His eyes wandered the length of her face, or what he could see of her without having to move over-much. She smiled at him sweetly and her face morphed into a look of pity.

"Happened?" she asked him quietly, her gaze never leaving his. He watched as she tilted her head at the question. It was when he had stared back at her, that Cullen felt his body called out to her. Her presence filled him with a strange sort of bittersweet longing. For a single moment, he could have sworn that he heard the gentle hum of a song. There was something about her was so hard not to look at, not to notice. He locked his gaze with hers once again. Her eyes seemed to glow with a strange light. The man could not place it, but he wanted that light for some reason, he _knew_ that light.

Who was this woman?

The man had chosen to stare back at her as a silent reply. _It must be very bad, the way I ache all over. _Cullen had thought grimly. "It –h-hurts." He hissed out in authentic distress.

Her hand lightly traced his face and as she did, Cullen had felt the vicious throbbing of pain subside. "Is that better?" Her voice betrayed no emotion. She seemed to be earnestly curious of his comfort. Cullen decided that she must have been a healer.

The unsettled templar sighed in stark relief. "Yes, much better. I thank you." He managed a weak grin up at the woman.

"You are very welcomed." It might have been his imagination but her voice held a touch of irony. The woman glanced down at her lap and then back at him. Cullen realized that his healer's hands were bound. He pushed himself into a sitting position and gazed along the length of the tether which ended abruptly tied around his ankle.

Alarm broke across his features with a startling swiftness. "Why are you tied to me?" He asked purely dumbfounded.

Hazel eyes blinked at him once, and then the woman parted her lips. "You do not remember?" Her voice dripped with caution and neutrality.

Cullen placed on hand to his head. It was then he noticed the armor still wrapped around his arms and torso. _Why am I in armor?_ He could not remember putting it on. He could not tell what kind of armor it was, or where he was. Cullen was baffled. "No." He answered slowly and chose not to elaborate.

"We were beset by bandits." He watched her eyes well with tears. A part of his heart lurched when he saw those bright eyes dimmed by sadness. An awkward moment passed and the man could not suppress the urge to comfort the distressed female. He reached a hand out and patted her shoulder. Cullen looked around and saw no one save them. Had there been others with them?

Who was this woman?

OoOoOo

Solona watched eagerly as the templar flitted in the throes of lost memories and madness. She was eager for the opportunity to spin the tale, and not the tale itself. The sooner the mage had the events shaped, the sooner she would be able to lead him to Lothering and escape back into the land as a free woman.

She understood that time was of the essence, as if often was. His incredulous expression at her bindings had caused a short wave of apprehension to crash over her. Her mind had frantically called forth the copious number of plausible stories she had woven in advance. Bandits had seemed the most reasonable explanation. Though she had loathed lying to the man, any chance that he could be brought back to awareness by the truth had to be skirted around with great caution. Very few believable tales could explain why she was bound and tied to his leg. The last few days had been a tedious waiting game and now Solona knew with clarity that her patience would pay off. Today was a fortuitous day, it appeared.

The mage tried to clear her eyes of the concocted tears. She understood that the man behind the Chantry's mindless hatred of her kind; was a caring man. She had been perturbed by the lack of malice or artifice in his body and face toward her. Solona was bereft of any of the harsh feelings she had carried so studiously before. For a singular heartbeat her hunter, captor, bane, and obstacle; was an unguarded man, that she was twisting the mental stability of.

She would never forgive herself for this.

She knew the tears in her eyes were genuine. No matter the face she portrayed to the rest of the world. No matter the countless masks or fabricated personas. Solona was not ruthless. She was not evil or vindictive. She was a survivor. Her hopes and dreams rested on making sure that this rather capable hunter believed every word of the lies she would spin.

Well practiced lines, which had previously only been spoken aloud in the realm of the fade, tumbled from her lips like a poisoned lure waiting to snare a wayward passerby. "Yes, the bandits." Her tone arched to portray sadness and fear. Solona could not bear to look at the man as she had been able to before. Somehow this seemed far more damning then destroying the lyrium potion had been. She understood the value of gauging his reaction, but had only been able to study him under the cover of her eyelashes.

The man seemed very confused. Solona acknowledged that confusion was a double edged sword and she was not yet aware which edge she teetered on. "I don't remember bandits." The suspicion in his voice made her heart race wild at the possibility of having had made a mistake.

_The best lie contains snippets of the truth._ The rational knowledge wove a heady blanket around her worries and smothered them quickly. His weaknesses gleamed from her careful study and time with him flooded her. The lies she had composed fell into place with that horrid event when she had first encountered him. Solona's stomach lurched at the memory of the templar's rage when his men had been slaughtered. How furious would he be for her lies? She dispelled the question quickly. "I'm not surprised." She stated solemnly. "I'm sure the blood mage had something to do with your lapse in memory." Internally she winced at the mention of the magic traitor. Blood magic was dangerous and fool hardy. Solona had no love for blood mages or people that sought to destroy for power.

The addled templar stilled. She watched his face turn a deathly white and his eyes became less glossy from madness. "I…" His voice whispered harshly. "I remember a _blood mage_." She saw him still spit the title like a curse and she wondered just how much of his previous actions and words had been ingrained into him.

The mage leapt upon his statement with frenzy. She looked back up into startled amber eyes; she understood she needed to ruin his correlation with the true memory and the falsehood. "You saved me." Her hands grasped at his. The leather bit into her tender flesh once more and her lips parted in a breathless whimper. "I'm so very sorry that you were injured in the process." She stated forcefully and took great care to stare directly into his gaze.

"I was injured?" The man interrupted suddenly. Solona nodded at him readily.

"Indeed." She acquiesced and pointed toward his still healing wound. "Right there." She watched him gingerly look down at the gleaming breastplate. "I tended the injury as best I could." She lowered her eyes demurely to display modesty.

"Why am I in full armor?" Her captor asked with a voice oozing veritable disbelief. His eyes widened when he looked back at her. "I haven't taken my vows yet."

The mage narrowed her eyes slightly. This was a question she had not accounted for. Solona closed her eyes and drew a shaky breath.

She would never forgive herself for this.

OoOoOo

"You were traveling with your templar brethren." Cullen's mind whirled with half-thoughts and the haze of uncertainty. Her words rang a chord of truth within his chaotic state of being. He remembered the others. He could not recall names, but the faces around the campfire came slowly forward. The woman had claimed there was a blood mage involved, that image had come with sickening brightness. Cullen shifted through the images as if they were portraits that captured only one still moment in time.

He could recall the woman's face. His eyes widened slightly as a flash of a moment stormed through his mind. She had been there after the world had gone dark and the pain had been so great. This woman had, he recalled, sewn together his wound. Cullen could see every stitch she made; he could see the way her gaze never left his wound. Some small part of him cried out in warning that this didn't seem right. But everything she had said he could recall. _Everything except the bandits, _he conceded.

She was watching him and Cullen sat straighter under her gaze. He knew the Chantry sister's had often gotten after him for his sub-optimal posture. He would be the face of the Chantry and that meant he was to always put his best foot forward. Cullen realized that it was just the two of them. The thought made his insides twist and churn sharply. She had told him that he had rescued her. The hopeful man would have been lying if he had said he was displeased by the news. Cullen had always dreamed of saving a lady in distress; it had been the main reason he intended to take his vows. First and foremost he wanted to protect the land from the dastardly mages exactly like the one that had apparently killed off his brethren. Second; He knew that when he swore his vows he would be a knight of the Chantry, and knights saved the weak.

He had to protect her; she needed him.

"You came upon me shortly after I had been captured." Her soft eyes made a contrast to her matter-of-fact voice. Cullen noticed that she looked slightly ill. The memories of being captured by the bandits must not have been tolerable ones. He pitied the young woman for any suffering she had endured. "You and your brethren fought bravely." She continued and Cullen could see the truth reflected in her form. "You made the killing blow on the blood mage." Again, images passed like water through his fingers. His hands itched at the remembrance of a tightly gripped hilt and the resistance caused when the steel met bone. "After the blood mage was stuck down, you fell and I came to tend your wound." Cullen frowned at the statement. Her hands were bound now, but in his memory they had been unbound.

"Your hands weren't bound when you tended me." His voice dropped low in suspicion. The part of him that cried out in warning before buzzed behind the curtain of confusion and bleariness.

The woman never faltered, her expression never changed. "No, you are mistaken." She reprimanded gently. "My hands were always bound." Cullen blinked and tried to recall the memory again. Perhaps he was mistaken because he could clearly remember, after her affirmation, her hands had been bound and she had struggled greatly with trying to heal him. _Why had she not cut herself free?_ A whisper of doubt niggled in the back of his mind.

"Why did you not cut yourself free? Why did I not free you?" Befuddlement wore on his thoughts and feelings. Everything was becoming less and less clear. The woman in front of him placed a soothing hand on his skin again and Cullen's body eagerly leaned for it. He could not understand how she suddenly seemed to alluring. Everything about her seemed to be attractive all at once. Her eyes shone so brightly with some unknown light again and Cullen desperately wanted to touch her. He wanted _something_ from her and it scared him that he did not know what that something was. _Perhaps that is why the bandits captured her?_

He had to protect her; she needed him.

Her soft fingers brushed against his arm and her words combined with her touch to shake all his grasped thoughts loose once more to the murky confusion. "Your wound festered. We had limited supplies and no weapons." Cullen's eyes widened as he looked for his sword, only to find that he did not have one.

"You…" He began uncertainly. "You healed me and stayed with me to stop the infection?" He could not stop the breathy sort of catch that entered his voice. She could have fled and left him for death at any point, but this woman he had saved; had chosen to save his life as well. "Why are you tied to my leg though?" That was the one question that burned across his mind. Warnings rang out in the form of the hairs on the back of his neck. _Careful templar, careful._ A harder thought wormed to the forefront.

The woman laughed softly and smiled impishly up at him. Cullen thought that she was rather fetching when she smiled. "You have a tendency to roll in your sleep. " Her sweet voice taunted lightly in his ears. "This was to keep you from opening your wound up again."

Cullen did not know why he felt unease prickle at his back. He could not say that even though everything she said was logical and snippets of memories plagued him to affirm her words; he still felt that something was off. The doubt clouded around his brain. It was so very hard to concentrate with her drawing him toward her somehow; he literally felt compelled to be near her. A basic part of him demanded that he stay close to her, that everything would be fine if he had her near. One more look at the soft smile that played upon her lips and Cullen reached down to untie them both.

She had saved his life. She had stayed with him. How could he not trust her? "What is your name?" He asked after the prolonged silence.

"Solona." She answered promptly and Cullen knew a flash of recognition jolted through him, but he could not help but believe she had told him that name before. He knew that name.

"Well met." He stumbled awkwardly. "I'm Cullen." He pushed an arm out for her to take. He watched her blink down at the offered appendage before gripping it lightly and they shook.

"Cullen? That's a nice name." She smiled at him again and a few of his lingering doubts quieted from the rabble of lost memories.

He had to protect her; she needed him.


	12. Chapter 12

**Hello, I hope you all had a very fun Christmas or holiday depending on what you observe. This is a mini-chapter as a late present for the dear readers, I still have an hour left on my end of the world until Christmas is over…so it counts.**

**Thank you all for your reviews and for reading! I appreciate every last one of the reviews I receive and you have my thanks again Mixedaudio, Nithu, Esaure and Coldblossom!**

_**Story note: I am trying to portray different aspects of Cullen's personality through his withdrawal. So there might be parts where he seems to lose a train of thought or changes his point of view completely. I am going to attempt to take you with him in the journey of insanity, so bear that in mind if you could be so kind. Thank you! **_

**Rated M. I do not own the characters used, or anything affiliated with Dragon Age Origins.**

**I think we can all agree that 11 chapters is enough time to wait for some of the actual romance to happen, right? Good. Enjoy!**

OoOoOo

Cullen had taken in his self-proclaimed companion's tale of tragedy and loss in stride. Still, half of his mind plagued him in susurration. His gaze lingered on the chestnut hair of the woman as she walked steadily next to him. The risen sun gleamed lightly off of her hair and he watched nearly fascinated as she seemed to glow. There was a substance about her that made the turbulence of his thoughts quiet. A prime voice stood out against the ever-present discomposure of his lucidity. It prodded him, none to gently, that he was forgetting something; something so very important and it all balanced on the woman near him.

Something wasn't right.

He narrowed his eyes in concentration and attempted to disarm the allure the woman, Solona, exuded. The chattering of thoughts flurried in mass effect around the inner sanctum of his mind. Flashes of moments past flickered and images rippled like a drop upon a pond of still water. He could see in a fashion similar to looking at a mirror; a more seasoned Cullen had spoken in those memories. _Her._ The sophisticated murmur echoed in the caverns of his mind. _She is dangerous. It is all her fault._

Cullen stopped all movement; his body acted of its own volition as he sorted through the two natures that presented in the definition of his self. His hands reached to his face and he rubbed it in an old gesture of comfort from a childhood he could not remember. Why couldn't he remember? If he had possessed a wound that had festered it should not have robbed him of his memories. Infection did not cause a lapse in one's ability to recall events. Did it? If it did, then why could he vividly call to mind the battle with the blood mage? Why did his voice feel as if he did not use it often? His body felt foreign to him; it had not felt like his own since the moment he woke.

Something wasn't right.

To further the matter to a point of suspicion, was that he was cognizant of her taking sewing his wound. She had not looked frightened nor had she looked in any particular distress over the thought of harm upon her savior's person. Cullen recollected her face had been passive and calm. She had acted in a manner of detachment that seemed more cruel than necessary. What sort of person would not be moved by such a righteous plight?

Yet, he berated the seasoned voice softly, she had healed him. Solona had not left his side. Even now when he could not concentrate or function without trembling and pain; she stayed with him. Did it truly matter that she had not burst into a torrent of tears that would not have helped irrespective of the situation? _She is only human after all._

His head snapped up and he stared at the figure growing more distant down the road. He knew she had not noticed yet that he had fallen behind. Something about that phrase viciously bite at his psyche with the brutality of a poisonous snake. _Human._ The vast depths of his consciousness echoed torturously.

Something wasn't right.

The world as he perceived it shifted in an instant. That instant carried with it the cognizance that he was _Templar_ Cullen. He was not a green-horned youth still waiting in the wings of foolish dreams of grandeur. He was that prime voice that had cried out over the din of lyrium deprived musings. The templar within him roared to life with a force that surpassed the instability of his fractured concentration. Emotions that had been smothered and choked by the cloak of madness filled the human vessel to the brim. Rage, hate, anguish, and fear danced a sickened path along his recollection of his last meeting with Solona. _Mage Amell. _His betrayed mind hissed with malice.

He knew she had tried to trick him. He trembled with the knowledge that she had tricked him. She was as conniving as the lowest of fade-spun demons and beasts. The templar was near the deepest pits of rage one could submit too without courting further insanity. _I have shown her mercy, and this is how she repays me?_ Cullen's thoughts roared across the immeasurable stretch of a slow creeping pain. The pain that he had felt earlier swept languidly at his body and it only served the potent purpose of fueling his urge to rip the mage limb from limb.

Everything would be right then.

OoOoOo

Solona wandered almost aimlessly along the length of the dirt road. She noticed the marked increase in hooves and footprints. Her captor had been a rather polite if not sweet man beneath all the bluster of Chantry training and poisoned lies. She winced at the last thought. Lies were what she, herself, had all but spoon-fed the mentally weakened man.

There was no time to reconsider her actions now because survival would always matter more.

Was she remorseful for what she had done? In short, yes she was heartily apologetic for her methods of earning her well-deserved freedom. Yet, she had weighed her options carefully. She was a planner by nature and a damn fine one by practice. She had already saved the templar once. She would not let harm befall him due to her actions. Solona warily reflected that harm would come from her fabricated tale of past events, but nothing she stated should cause lasting detriment.

Perhaps it was the uncertainty of the entire situation that caused her to fret so? The mage knew a great deal more than the average person about the effects of lyrium withdrawals on the mentality of the unfortunate soul; but she had little knowledge on the how one recovered from such an ordeal. She understood instinctively that she had taken a large risk and it unsettled her tremendously.

There was no time to reconsider her actions now because survival would always matter more.

Solona had already cast her lot into the game of risk and circumstance. There was precious little she could do now in the face of the encroaching storm except weather the blows to the best of her ability. Time and fate could cast a tempest that made the magical mimicry she could create, pale in comparison. She bemoaned the fragile will of human nature. She blamed herself for not adhering to the core of her nature and following her original plan. Solona knew herself to be a thinker and as such she should have thought out her actions. She should have never stopped at the sound of metal clinking harshly upon metal. She should have just left without tending to the fallen male; and yet, she had been equally powerless to stop herself from going to his aid.

Was it pity? Was it truly a same species benevolent act? What had compelled her to deviate from her carefully laid plans? Solona looked dejectedly out over the endless mass of earth interrupted only by outcroppings of flora. Her mind instantly supplied that they were still headed in the correct direction to arrive at Lothering. She judged them to be a day or two outside of Ostagar and from there they would have to take the Imperial highway to Lothering. She had wearily run a hand through her hair. _That means two more weeks, perhaps three if his mental state deteriorates more rapidly than I have allotted for._

Solona gasped unable to disguise the shock and pain when her captor grabbed her arm in an unforgiving hold. She felt an explosion of pain radiate from her arm as the aggressor twisted it inhumanly behind her back. She watched with intense alarm the face of the clearly enraged templar as he forced her to face him. The mage started at being confronted in such a physical manner. Her shock quickly wore off and her fear increased as she cataloged the swift change in his demeanor. She stared into eyes that shone brightly with comprehensibility.

_He remembers._ Worry clawed savagely at her heart. His face frightened her. Solona knew she was a breath away from actual panic when his other hand closed firmly around her throat. She heard the sound of a keening whimper erupt from her throat before it was stifled with brutal efficiency. Dread pooled low in her stomach and she fought tumultuously to call forth her magic.

_Air._ Her mind screamed desperately. _I need air!_ As if it had heard her plea her magic reverberated in her veins. The song of enchantment could have only been heard by trained ears and the two individuals locked in an atrocious situation qualified for such a requirement. The melody of her magic swelled and ebbed as it pulsated deep within her. The urge to defend her life thrummed in her blood. Solona did not want to harm him, but he could leave her without options.

There was no time to reconsider her actions now because survival would always matter more.

OoOoOo

The templar was frenzied. His training demanded vengeance for the deceit this mage, this _animal_, had shown. The Chantry would never abide something as wicked as this apostate to wander the realm of the living. It belonged in the fade where all the other wretched demon spawns lurked. He watched in grim satisfaction when her eyes widened and his hand closed firmly around her throat. _Now let her spew her toxic lies._ A voice very much like the Knight-Commander's growled lowly.

The templar noticed that her eyes glazed over and she started to glow again. He snarled as she tried to access her magic and he would have gladly throttled that out of her as well; had the song not tantalized his lyrium starved senses. Templar Cullen knew that glow all too well. He knew that she radiated the essence of his greatest need. The bittersweet tune wrapped intimately around his energy and he _needed_…

What had he been doing?

Snippets of lost moments suspended within his heart had burst forth. He was on the road, he spent a lot of time on the road. _Yes, that sounds right._ The veil of lost lucidity blanketed over him once again. His rage and murderous thoughts melted faster than a snowflake upon warm skin. The man knew he was embracing the woman before him, Solona; a part of him supplied the name readily. He knew Solona. She was his lover. Images tumbled of them lying together on a well-worn bedroll beneath the infinite span of the night sky. Cullen reveled in the warmth of her smile. He adored ruffling her feathers until her naturally calm demeanor shattered to reveal the passionate creature underneath.

They had been arguing, he was sure of it. He had told her of his plans to accept the Chantry vows. They had met; quiet accidentally, on his journey from his home in Jader to see the Revered Mother in Redcliffe, where he was set to become a full-fledged templar. It was true that he had not thought much of her to begin with, but she had changed his mind and his heart in rather short order. Cullen could not remember how she had, but he knew that she did not want him to go to Redcliffe. He would be sent to the tower for his first assignment. _Solona hates the tower._ A velvety part of his remembrances purred.

She had an air about her that beconed to him in ways that the Maker would have disapproved of. Cullen mused that she made him not want to give up the chance of being a husband and a father. A sweet and heavy longing filled his gaze. The confusion that ran rampant in his mind focused on what had caused him to try and hold her against her will. _She…she had tried to leave._ His fractured mind provided. Cullen felt terror well up inside of him at the sheer thought of her leaving his side. _So I stopped her._ The fresh memory flashed through his mind, altered slightly to fit his self-deluding story.

What had he been doing?

The man looked down at the still and silent girl who greedily choked down large gulps of air. Cullen nearly chuckled at her strange antics. Her hazel eyes had always been rather pretty to him. He thanked his good fortune he had not over looked her because she was not a striking beauty. He knew instantly that she was just his sort of sweet looking. He understood the ramifications that would come from not accepting his vows, but here with her, he no longer cared. Every part of him agreed that he could not let her escape. A dark part of him rumbled that escape had a different context than what he currently thought. Cullen dismissed the inkling as swiftly as it had come.

He watched Solona look at him in a silent wariness that tugged at his heart. Cullen had never intended to frighten her. He could hear the lingering strains of a gentle song and it plucked his desires into a strange new height. Heedless of propriety or consequence he lowered his lips to hers. He shook slightly at the warmth of her lips and the sweet scent of something that seemed oddly familiar. Cullen could taste the cloying emotion of surprise on her lips and it enraptured him. She did not fight his attention and he took that to be consent to delve deeper into the inviting cavern of her mouth. _I won't let you flee from me Solona. _

Cullen could feel the pounding of blood in his ears that danced tightly with excitement. This is what he had been doing, he was sure of it.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you all for your more than lovely reviews! I truly appreciate those that take a few extra moments to tell me their thoughts or opinions. Thank you all.**

_**Language note: family or relatives are kin; friends, neighbors, and acquaintances are kith. Kith is not just a random word that Sten spouts out in the game. It is an actual English word with a real-world connotation. **_

**Rated M, I do not own Dragon Age Origins.**

**Enjoy!**

OoOoOo

She had been paralyzed by the sudden turn of events. She felt that no matter the words used to express the emotion; they all would have failed to do even a smidgen of justice to the maelstrom of thoughts frozen inside of her. The feel of the formerly enraged Templar's lips upon her own had threatened to overwhelm her senses to the point of futility. _What had just occurred? _ It had seemed an asinine question for she had known very well what had occurred. _Am I in the grip of the fade? _No, her mind was not locked into the symbiotic folds of the dream realm. Solona was startled at the complete and obvious knowledge that her concomitant had kissed her, most passionately, she had contemplated, if the trickling flecks of reality had filtered in correctly.

Why was she trembling?

Nearly dying did tend to make one have a mass outcry of random emotions. However, Solona could not feel the icy fingers of terror or the hot rush of exhilaration. In their place she had found only a symphony of confusion and what she was afraid to call longing.

Solona swallowed hard as her heart threatened to rupture from its' vigorous beating. For a long moment she stood stupefied before the man who grinned down at her with a sentiment so very much like cherishment shining in his eyes. She had been frightened by his righteous anger. She had been terrified for her life when his ardent fingers had closed tightly around her throat. She had tried to flare her magic enough to clear the fit of incomprehensible rage that had shrouded him. Solona marveled at his mercurial temperament when she had only succeeded in coaxing her song to its height when he had somehow rebounded the song of her allurement with his own energy before greedily sucking it from her physically. She was ablaze with the knowledge that Cullen, the templar, had literally tasted her magic. How it had felt to him, she could not say. To her, he had tasted her with his energy and his mouth and Solona was left nearly undone by the experience. It had been so intimate. It had been so staggering.

A veritable vortex of half-concocted explanations demanded her attention with disturbing amounts of fear. Solona knew this was beyond the bounds of what could be termed as unexpected. She was already wadding cautiously through unknown territory with the prolonged effects of Librium withdrawal. Her dependant captor was watching her and she scrambled to break through the waves of shock and confusion. _What have I gotten myself into?_ She wondered silently absent of any traces of humor or mirth.

Why was she trembling?

She berated herself for the cresting feelings of guilt and regret over her underhandedness since her meeting of Cullen. _Of the templar._ She scolded herself again. It mattered not that he had looked at her as if she were the embodiment of everything he held dear. This was a sick and twisted delusion brought upon him by the dupery of the Chantry. She hated that her heart chose this exact revelation to morph affection into something stronger; such as fondness. Solona was only human. She was a woman who had once been a girl full of unreasonable dreams and expectations. She had expected a life filled with laughter and happiness. She had once dreamed of having a true love. _Or anyone to love, really._ The long forgotten lament of her heart reiterated. Solona laughed bitterly before she had been able to stop herself. Those had been dreams that shattered long ago and it was always best, in her observance, to leave dead things buried.

"Solona." The man holding her had murmured gently. "My Solona."

She felt her heart throb painfully behind the wall of her resolve to treat this man like any other. She knew she had to deal with him as nothing more than a piece of her plan. He was a pawn in the grand scheme of her quest for freedom. _His Solona?_ Her heart was a far cry worse than any traitor throughout history. _You are being foolish!_ Her mind hissed in embarrassment and confliction. She would not feel anything toward this pious swordsman. He was gripped by madness she soothed to herself. She understood he was not aware of what he said or did. _He simply can't be._

Why was she trembling?

"Cullen?" She broached softly. Her thoughts were in haphazard disarray as she forced herself to deal with the turn of events. Solona was prepared to deal with his anger. She was willing to confront his confusion and sickness head on. The mage was completely unskilled in handling honest endearment from him. Her impressive mind could not comprehend his tenderness. She had not tried to lure him into his perceived feelings of affection. He could gain nothing from her that he would need nor remember. She had never been in this situation. Normally there were reasons that anyone noticed or desired her. She could not fathom any such reason with him. _It has to be the madness. _

"Yes?" His pleased face moved tauntingly closer to her blank one.

"Are…" She paused to search for the words. "Are you feeling well?" Her voice was neutral and did not betray her inner turmoil. Her hazel eyes shifted over his features to find answers to questions she had yet to pose.

His face reflected confusion and amusement. "I feel fine." His voice was steady and carried just a touch of husk to it. Solona absent-mindedly mused that she liked it. _Stop._ Her calculating nature commanded and she roused herself back to cool indifference.

"I am glad." She stated calmly even though she was unsure of what to say.

She watched him search her face and a frown marred his otherwise handsome face. "Solona…" He grasped her hands and pulled them to his chest tightly. "I am not going to take the vows." He charmed solemnly. "I have come to realize that being with you if more important than even the Chantry. Maker please forgive me, but I want…" he trailed off softly and his amber orbs bore into hers with heart-wrenching clarity. Solona forgot to breathe for a moment.

Why was she trembling?

OoOoOo

Cullen stared at the woman he that clung the hands of. He knew he had been in the middle of saying something, that is had been rather important, but the whispers swirling behind his eyes stole the thoughts away before he could bring them forth. Did he know this woman?

He found her bewitching.

He blinked owlishly at the bright hazel eyes before him in contemplation. _No,_ he decided firmly, _I don't know her. _However, if he did not know her, why was he holding her hands? Cullen could not fathom the reason he was. He noticed her face took on a twin expressions of worry and concern.

"You want…?" Her gentle voice prodded. Cullen raised a brow at the question. He did not want anything that he knew of. _Then again,_ he conceded, _I would be curious why someone was holding my hands too._ He ventured that she was querying as to his bold actions. The man was as earnestly puzzled by his behavior as the young lady was.

_Mage._ A primal whisper echoed behind the curtain of insanity. It broke past the whispers and haze that Cullen had come to accept. When he had accepted it he did not know. He knew he feared it. He knew it was a dangerous thing; sadly, he could not remember why. _Mage?_ He asked of himself in the purest form of disorientation. _Why am I thinking of mages?_

Cullen was no templar. He was but a simple farmhand born and bred in the simple village of Jader. His father owned the third largest farm where they grew an assortment of vegetables to sell at the market. There were no mages in Jader. There were no mages in any village or city that he knew of; except of course the Circle tower, home of the mages of Fereldan. However, Cullen knew the Tower resided on a secluded island located in the watery depths of Lake Calenhad. It was over one month's travel to visit the Circle of Magi from Jader, and Cullen's family had never had a reason to enact trade with the Circle. It had not been and still was not a practical business decision.

He found her bewitching.

He struggled to find the answer to her question. "I do not want anything." His voice was laced in confusion and apprehension. He had never been very skilled at speaking with women. Cullen often had shied away from the task whenever possible. He had been very content to work the land and reap the meager happiness a simple life brought. He had been content but staring at this woman; he knew contentment was not a mistress he would be entertaining for much longer. He found himself distressed that he did not posses some aptitude at honeyed-words in her presence.

Yet, as strong as the urge to impress her was, a stronger urge to denounce her roared to life. Something about her caused his befuddled mind to cast her as a mage. _Mages are evil._ A motherly voice cooed from the inky depths of his madness and they sounded exactly like the revered mother of Jader. He had heard of the plague known as mages often enough. Mages were dangerous.

"Alright." The woman before him answered steadily and extracted her hands from his grasp. Cullen let her do so without a word of protest. He watched her saccharine lips pout slightly and he remembered he knew the taste of those lips. He knew the gentle way she would submit to his plundering tongue. His amber eyes darkened in want. The fog of lunacy fluctuated to encompass the most recent memories of this woman. Cullen archly remembered he had kissed her; that was why he had held her hands. She had let him kiss her, when he had barely even laid eyes on her.

He found her bewitching; he pondered the flashes of remembrances, which had been why he had kissed her. It was rather forward of him and if her kin or kith had seen his amorous assault upon her person; he would have been whipped soundly and he knew he would deserve such a fate. Cullen was ashamed he had violated the clearly drawn lines of decency. The man felt himself flush at the horror of what he had done.

"I am terribly sorry." He flustered at the stranger. "I do not know what came over me." His gaze was unable to reach her face and instead chose the safe target of the tree behind her. He quickly took a step away from her to gather his head. Cullen noted it was harder to think when the buzzing inside his skull grew louder at the distance between them.

OoOoOo

She knew the exact second he had switched from one train of thought to the next. She watched his stance change and his very energy alter slightly. The mage took a great deal of mental notes to help her gauge his mental state in the future. Her psyche clung frantically for a familiar perch. Self-preservation masterfully rose to the fore front of her turbulent thoughts and acted as a shield from the mentally unstable male.

She had to be indifferent. She could not let him affect her.

"It is quite alright." She found herself replying for the very first time in their acquaintance without much thought. Pangs of truth rang out in her mind at her statement. It was alright. _No it was not._ Her hysterical after thought crashed over her in an icy wave._ It is anything but alright. Focus Solona. He is a means to an end, nothing more._

She calculatingly watched the man before her take in the surrounding field and road. The mage had grown to harbor the suspicion that the templar's memories altered by their own volition. She hypothesized that the journey into his lunacy must contain more curves and twists then she had allotted for. Her ridged nature cursed that she had been wrong numerous times in the short span of their forced companionship. Mentally she chanted the mantra of patience and that she had only to survive two more weeks in his company. _Provided we start moving again._

"Pardon me?" Her eyes shifted back to the questioning deranged templar. "I know this will sound strange, but I cannot remember how I got here." He gave a nervous laugh and Solona felt her composure soften to his plight. She winced at her further unkind thoughts and primly reminded herself that the man was insane by her own trickery. His head hung low for a moment before he looked back at her with a blush on his features. "I am…not entirely sure where 'here' is." He trailed off dejectedly.

"Ah." Solona expressed quietly. "It does not sound so strange." She offered a bland but warm smile at her ward. She had shifted the paradigm and now she was no longer his responsibility, he was hers. The templar visibly relaxed and the mage spun another soft crooning of magic to tempt his sense. She needed him compliant so another explosion of rage would not be risked. "You are on the Imperial Highway." The best lies where spun from the threads of truth and Solona needed to redouble her efforts to capture the potentially fatal Chantry servant.

She had to be indifferent. She could not let him affect her.

"Imperial Highway?" He reprised in alarm. She watched his amber eyes widen and his head had swiveled to assess the landscape better. "How did I end up here?"

She cocked her head to the side and evaluated him. His templar side wanted to kill her; that much she had easily gleamed from her still throbbing neck. His baser side wanted to posses her. This side was a mystery to her yet. What face of Cullen was this? What facet of his inner workings or emotions was being expressed at this moment? She opted to stay silent and wait for him to reveal more information that she could use to ensnare him once more.

"Please, you have to help me." His eyes pleaded with her and a small part of her ached to soothe his fear and pain. She ruthlessly rebelled against the very thought. "I…I don't remember how I got here. You see, I live in the village of Jader." His hands fluidly moved through the air before him as if the gesture would explain all of his worries and actions.

She would have smile at the disarming display of shyness had it been someone else. Had the circumstance been different; she shook her head and dismissed the willful notion as a result of his unusual drain of her magic. She knew he must have projected some of his residual chaotic emotions onto her.

The mage contemplated the next course of action. She understood that this was costing her precious time to return this lost templar to the Chantry flock. "I am headed toward Lothering." Solona carefully kept her voice neutral and braced herself for another bout of rage that the name might spark. "You could accompany me there. Perhaps we could find you assistance?" She demurely lowered her eyelashes and shifted from one foot to the next to display shyness.

Confused but hopeful eyes watched her movements. "How far are we from Lothering?" His voice was resigned but curious.

"I would say no more than two weeks." She answered promptly.

"Is your family around? I should ask for their permission before we travel together." His voice was smooth and polite. Solona found his question rather amusing.

"I have no family." She dryly stated. "I am traveling to Lothering alone."

She watched Cullen flush as the implication of her statement weighed in his mind. "Alone? Would it not be improper for us to…travel together?" He asked in hushed tones even though no other soul could be seen.

Solona tilted her head and conceded that she needed to push him a bit harder. "You want to return to Jader, don't you?" Her voice was honey and temptation.

She had to be indifferent. She could not let him affect her.

OoOoOo

The young templar stared at her in confusion. How had she known where he was born and raised? Cullen apprised the woman in wary bemusement. He had just been taught about the temptation of demons from the Knight-Commander stationed upon his arrival. As he looked about the clearing which was decidedly _not_ the Tower; he felt fury wash over him at the thought that a demon was attempting to lure him to his death. It was the only feasible explanation as to how this _creature_ had known his deepest longing.

He was a Templar, he would not yield.

"I want none of your trick demon." He growled viciously.

"Demon?" The apparition arched a brow in distain. "I am no demon, templar." Her voice was frozen contempt and Cullen idly marveled at how quickly her tone had changed.

_It is dangerous, kill it._ His staunch but new training ordered. Cullen had learned that instinct was a powerful ally and he reached swiftly for his sword but found none. His gaze hardened and his heart hammered. It would seem that he was correct and this was but a fabricated world of the demon's making. He would never be without his sword. It was his status symbol and his honor as a son of the Chantry; it was his instrument as a servant of the Maker.

"I will not play your games." The templar uttered stoically. He gathered his considerable talents and focused them into an attack of Holy Smite. The energy flowed through him just as his instructors had taught him so diligently to observe. He focused on the holy symbol of Andraste; he recited the chant deep in the chambers of his mind. The hairs on his arms stood on end as he pressed the energy tighter and tighter until he could force the strength of his faith out of his body. He fell short of unleashing the ability at the nervous tittering of magic. _Magic?_ That would be expected with any demon, but it was the way it had sounded. The lyrical embodiment of the otherwise intangible ability brought a flush of memories. It sang of the mystic and of mage. What was a mage doing out here? Templar Cullen fought back against the ever-present confusion, but he was not confused he was certain of many things. He knew just what was happening as surely as he knew the tower. He understood that he lived at The tower where his Knight-Commander and fellow templars resided. He remembered that the tower was where he had just been introduced to the regimen of lyrium. _Lyrium. The hunt. The blood mage. Mage Amell…Solona._

He was a Templar, he would not yield

Templar Cullen was not furious, he was not even surprised. The mage had acted just like the animal he knew her to be. He contemptibly thought of all her arguments that she was human, but he knew her to be a human without dignity or honor. This apostate was cunning and merciless. He knew she was preying upon his weakness with eager abandon. He despised her for it.

"Mage Amell." His eyes sought out her placid face. He wanted to put a look of terror or regret onto her features, something that would actually mark her as the human she claimed to be.

"It would appear that was too much." She unconcernedly remarked.

He raised a solitary brow in silent question of her comment, or even in question of reasons for toying with him. Templar Cullen reflected that he should have known better than to let anything a _cursed_ said give him pause. He had admired her for being so forthright and docile before his withdrawal had started. Now he understood that she was simply a subtler sort of devious that already had him at a great disadvantage.

He was a Templar, he would not yield

He would fight her every step of the way, even if he could not remember it. Templar Cullen would never be bested by a mage and he had already vowed to never let her escape. Part of him, one part torn nearly asunder in madness, wondered why she had not left him to his fate. Templar Cullen had no need to evaluate the thought further; she was simply a more conniving mage than most.

They stared at one another with thoughts reflected in their eyes. A silent understanding of what they both knew. He would slip into madness again and she would manipulate his fractured mind to suit her own ends. This was little more than a game and the two opponents warred silently in a battle of wills. He took no notice of his body or any feeling except pure loathing. Mages all deserved death. He would never have a smidgen of mercy for any animal called a mage again. He had been too lax on this rather ordinary mage and it would cost him his dearly, he was sure.

The apostate glanced down at her feet and back up at him with vacant eyes. "For what it is worth, I am sorry that it has come to this." She murmured quietly and he scoffed at her lie.

"Yes, I am sure your heart bleeds for me apostate." He snarled at her and fought the encroaching madness once more. The pain prickled along his body a tell-tale sign that the physical symptoms were upon him once more.

A bittersweet smile formed on her lips. Templar Cullen growled at the sight. He could feel his mind slipping behind a haze of insanity, and he gripped at the last vestiges of his comprehension. He watched the mage reach up and gently cup his face. "My heart does many things." She confided sadly. The templar grabbed her wrist harshly to move the offending appendage far away from his person. She was a fool if she thought he believed that for even a single heartbeat.

"I don't know what you hope to achieve apostate, but I will never rest until you are under lock and key at the tower. " He hissed menacingly. The velvety caress of his lyrium-induced withdrawals etched the haunting glow of her eyes in the manifestation of his sanity.

He was a Templar, he would not yield


	14. Chapter 14

**O.o wow, just…wow I am so grateful for all the wonderful reviews! You are all amazing! Simply amazing! You make me blush!**

_**Thank you all so much! I just wanted to make a quick side-note. I feel it is time for a much deeper look into Solona's character and why she thinks the way she does. I am sure some of you have noticed that I pay particular attention to the 'song' of magic. I think it is a very neat idea and I would like to think that like fingerprints every mage's magic is different. So therefore each song would be unique to the person and would be a helpful tool in distinguishing friends from enemies or hunting renegade mages. **_

**Rated M. I own nothing.**

**Please enjoy.**

OoOoOo

The young mage had come to realize that the lyrium withdrawal left her former captor trapped within the confines of his mind; which unfortunately changed faster than waves that crashed ominously on a well-weathered beach. At times she had found herself at a loss on how to adapt to whatever performance his demented mind concocted. She noticed with vast unease that the pious swordsman seemed to revolve around his true nature of a battle-hardened templar, and a heart-wrenchingly kind and naive man; who she had thought acted more like a love-struck boy. It had startled her greatly when she discovered her continuous reactions to the gamete of his personas.

It happened over and over again. There was an unrequited sense of kinship for Solona was near the edge of sanity. She had thought that only the templar would have encountered this problem, but he had affected her somehow. The mage had carefully reflected on the devouring of her lips under his. The image of his amber orbs colored with such intense desire for her flashed unbidden behind ordinary eyes whenever the temptation to blink happened upon her. Her heart thumped erratically in her chest every time she glanced at the deranged man from under her lashes. _Why can I not stop looking at him? _The minutes ticked by afflicting her with the worst sort of excruciating transience. Each sidelong gaze filled her to the brim with a peculiar partiality. She agitatedly ran a hand through her disheveled hair. The night sky was the only witness to her conflicted state.

She cared about the templar, far more than she should.

Solona's fingers snagged at the tangles in her long locks while she pondered over the course of events. What had made her tell him the truth? She was embarrassed to admit, and more than just a touch ashamed, that she had meant her parting words to the vestiges of his true self. She was not one for fantasy and whimsy but the honest expression of cherishment shining from his amber orbs had unraveled something inside of her otherwise stoic heart. It had crept upon her so slowly that she had failed to notice the unintentional snare until her heart was already captured and held tight. She ruefully confessed that to struggle against it would only magnify the wound she knew would come from all of this. Solona would not leave this encounter unscathed.

She winced at a particularly painful knot as she thought over the source of her frustration. It should have been at the templar. That would have been perfectly logical and she reveled in logic for all of its detached abilities. However, as most things had been since she had saved the Chantry servant, everything was illogical to the point of being a mockery to all Solona had ever valued. She had tossed aside her calculating nature to embrace a part of her she had tired adamantly to quell into nonexistence. Her eyes cautiously sought the sleeping form of her charge and she bitterly thought that fate would have been kinder if she could have explained these disastrous emotions away on his leaching of her magic.

_It could all be explained as an after-effect of his sharing my magic._ A rational part of her pleaded desperately in a mighty effort to sway her disharmonized conception. The mage understood herself better than to believe such a falsehood. She could lie to others. She could lie to the world or even the Maker himself; but Solona had always upheld the moral of never lying to oneself. Reluctantly she admitted that somewhere along the way in between the lines of right and wrong; in between the bounds of common sense and common decency; in between the roles of mage and templar, she had failed herself in the most important way possible.

She cared about the templar, far more than she should.

The disheartened young woman gazed up at the night sky and sneered slightly at the bright stars that ridiculed her and the self-induced torture she had wrought. He was just too confusing and Solona hated to be confused. Yet, she had stumbled upon him out there in the midst of trees and the gaping maw of death and had been utterly powerless to stop herself from coming to his aid. She reflected that he was willful to a fault and so full of that infuriating templar duty. As a mage she should have hated him, but she found that it only caused her to respect him more with each breakthrough the dark veil of the void called madness. Every time he somehow wandered back from the brink to confront her with such anger and even more determination caused her to lose just a bit more of her resolve. The templar had ensnared the mage with bonds far stronger than any Thedas or fade conjured elements and only one of them harbored that knowledge.

It was illogical. It was inconceivable. It was the worst tragedy Solona had ever known; to care for someone she had and would do nothing but betray. She cursed the pious swordsman for it was entirely his fault. She lashed out at her own weaknesses of wanting to be cared for and companionship. _If only he had not of looked at me like that._ Her mind wept acrimonious tears at the consequences of taking risks. Deviating from the plan had brought her to Cullen. Straying from her most upheld nature subjected her to dance to a tune she did not understand. She had been lost in the crucial moment where his eyes had seen her as a woman. Solona had not been a mage who needed to be feared or used as the Tower saw fit. She had not been a nameless and unremarkable face in the crowd to be forgotten or ignored. The young woman brushed away the unshed moisture that collected at the corners of her eyes. _ I was simply Solona, a woman he had convinced himself he loved. _

It was a hard to go about every day as nothing more than a shadow in the Tower. She had tried never to be noticed by anyone. Being invisible had come at a price because everything came with a price. It was a lesson that the world taught with ruthless efficiency; those that failed to learn were left cast by the wayside. She had pushed past the constant feelings of loneliness and sadness. Being noticed was not something she could have afforded. She understood from a very tender age that everything hinged on the small details that people overlooked or took for granted. The best place she could always hide in had been plain sight. Now it all seemed the cruelest form of irony that all she had been since in the Templar's presence was being noticed. It made her uneasy and excited at the same time. She could call it a rush of something that caused her confliction. Solona knew the term to describe her regard for Cullen, but to use it would cross a line that even the Maker and all the old gods combined could never undo the consequences of.

She cared about the templar, far more than she should.

She wanted to grasp those few precious moments where Cullen was lost in a haze of sweetness and caring. The mage wanted to be foolish for even one breath's time, but she would never do that. Her heart constricted painfully with each adoration-filled stare he leveled at her when the newest bout of madness overtook him. She wanted to believe that his affection for her was genuine. _Who does not want to be cherished? _There were times when he was so astoundingly sweet that she wished to play the part he had cast her in, however, even that was too underhanded even for her. She was just a woman, but she was also the one protecting him from the harsh reality of the world. His whole mental state was precariously balanced only by the feeding of her magic into his starved senses. Solona could have manipulated every waking aspect of the man. Yet, she would never even be tempted to use that power. The templar, Cullen, he mattered to her now. There was simply no possible way to forget that; at least not for her.

OoOoOo

Locked inside the cyclone of magic-laced delusions, the inner most sanctity of Cullen; his very essence struggled against the weight of his own mind. The stoic templar had been pushed to the very pits of consciousness as other embodiments of his past and his dreams warred over possession of his physical body. In the darkness unlike any he had ever known, the Templar's psyche was force to will away the hideous caresses of his false identities. There were moments in time he could reflect upon his interactions with the mage. However, those carefully fought for snippets in time were rare and more often than not he was woven in the fabric of insanity no different from the rest of the pattern.

He would have liked to think that he was floating at the back of his mind, constantly vigilant against the treachery of the apostate. He would have liked to think that. What Cullen knew to be true was that she held all the power in their reversed roles of captor and captive. It chilled his bones to bask in the knowledge that she could end his life at any point if she chose. The prime identity of Cullen was bitterly grim that should she ask it of him, he might very well help her with his own murder.

It was due to revelations such as those, which caused Templar Cullen to roar out against the deafening wails of his other personalities. They were the shadows of his younger years. The reflections of his foolish hopes and dreams before life had come and corrected those tedious notions that happiness could be found by the likes of him. Here, in his own personal fade nightmare, the man sat watching the world go by behind the glassy eyes of lunacy. He felt very much like he was standing in front of a warped and malicious mirror that exposed the most hated parts of himself to his worst enemy.

Why would she not just let him die?

Templar Cullen's honor rested in tatters around him. His true self clung with fading hope and ever-present determination to crawling out from the void of madness. The cyclone raged within him and left the prime part of his existence bereft of all comfort and memory. He had never been a man to slip into his cups, and he mused without humor that his body acted without him in a similar manner to pure intoxication. He was a man forged to be in control at all times. Templar Cullen dimly conceded that he had no control over anything at this point. He had fallen into the clutches of the most devious 'cursed' he had ever had the misfortune to come across.

It was an irascible clarity that his lifetime spent in devotion to the Maker would amount to not. All that he had sacrificed in the name of the greater good would be squandered as he was lead by the nose, by a mere slip of an apostate, across the land. Templar Cullen had detested mages from the moment he knew they did not appreciate the sacrifices men like him had made. The magic-born did not think of the blood, and tears spilt to protect them from everything. Mages were allowed a great many freedoms that Templars were forever denied and they wanted _more_? They were ungrateful and Templar Cullen found them repulsive because of the willful disobedience to a few simple rules.

Templar Cullen could not understand what mage wanted from him. She had yet, as far as the few precious glimpses with his own eyes perceived, caused him harm. Did the apostate expect him to rejoice in her mercy? Did she expect him to be grateful that she had ruined the only thing a man who had spent his entire life working toward one goal ever wanted? The mage had taken his reputation, his pride, and his dignity. What more could she possibly ask of him?

Why would she not just let him die?

OoOoOo

He was watching her again and Solona felt the flesh on her arms prickle in awareness. The last four days had been nothing short of torture for the woman. Every day was a deranged dance between the pair with music that constantly changed. Yesterday, they had stopped by a river to bathe. The heavy and cloying dirt of the road stung at her eyes. She noted that her ward was in an equally distressed state. Her hear prayed that he would be angry or even lapsed back into the Chantry mentality. She had an easier time accepting his wrath over his worship.

Things were complicated enough already.

It had taken a tower's worth of patience and many placating words to convince Cullen to discard his armor. Solona needed them to draw as little attention as possible to themselves because they had neared Ostagar and someone would remember a lone templar with a female traveling companion. The ordinary mage had no intention of straying down a course of action that would have force her to stand out in the memories of even one soldier.

It was a cold comfort to know that her former Chantry sanctioned guard would be left with few memories of her face. However, she knew that it was possible he might not forget the song of her magic. For the past few nights his energy had clutched at her either while awake or asleep and had sipped voraciously at her sorcery. Each time the experience left her trembling with want and a hunger of a much different nature. Though she sadly acknowledge that his mind might hate her, his body and his power wanted her. Solona barricaded her responsiveness to their shared nature aggressively.

"Are you angry with me?" Solona braced herself against the pang of elation that grew shyly at the sound of his voice.

Her smile was slightly forced, but it came easily bidden to her lips all the same. "No. I am not angry with you. Why do you ask?" She paused from walking to take a moment to reign in her turbulent thoughts.

His amber eyes lowered once to the ground and looked back at her with open concern. "You…you se-se-seem…upset." He bashfully finished and the mage witnessed for the first time a stuttering templar.

_How awkwardly endearing._ The wisp of a thought floated around her mind. Softening her features into a look that could have been described as wistful and she firmly shut it out. Things were complicated enough already.

"I thank you for your concern, but you need not trouble yourself on my account." She said evenly. Her eyes lowered of their own accord and stared at his wool leggings.

"Ah. I-it's no trouble." He hurriedly replied. "Truly. I…I just w-wanted to make sure you are alright."

She grinned sadly at his tone. Solona wondered mildly what fabricated reality he was placed in this time. "Cullen?" Curiosity was the largest of her vices she firmly decided.

"Y-Yes?" He hopped to attention at the sound of his name.

"What am I to you?" Her plain brown hair tumbled over her shoulder when she tilted her head in quiet contemplation. After having had to figure out what he perceived so many times, she earnestly tried to find the harm in simply asking him what he was thinking.

"Wh-what?" The templar cried out in distress and confusion.

"What am I to you?" She reiterated and noticed the dull red flush creeping up his cheeks.

"You…yo-ou're …" Amber eyes darted around aimlessly and the man stood still as a lump of stone.

"I'm…?" She prompted softly. Her heart went out to the clearly deranged man. How many times would sick fantasies do harm to them both? Her tone and face where a cool mask of indifference in stark contrast to the warm uncertainty permeating her heart.

"You're my mage." His eyes had widened upon hearing the words his mouth had uttered without thought. "Well, I-I mean you're not…_my_ mage exactly." His body shook likely and Solona deducted he was embarrassed by the careless declaration. "You-you're the mage assigned to m-my squadron to fight against the darkspawn."

_Darkspawn?_ Her mind questioned in wry amusement. _This delusion is new. Had he, perhaps, wanted to be a Grey Warden?_ She respected the man's talents and iron-clad will to know he would have been a credit to their ranks.

"Ah. I see." She commented as she processed that useful bit of information for later use.

She watched his mouth open as if to say something else, but she knew he had decided against it when an audible clack echoed between them as his teeth struck against each other. She cast her eyes upward to watch the gentle breeze carry a single ordinary sparrow across the vibrantly blue sky.

"Do you l-like birds?" Solona's attentions had rebounded off of the animal and back her crazed companion.

She blinked at the question; it seemed rather random to ask. "Yes, I like birds." She stated sans emotion.

"M-me too." His face split into a sweet grin and her lips twitched slightly in response before she forced them into neutrality. "Do you have a favorite? Bird I mean?" His eyes suddenly seemed too open for the man Solona had first met.

She nodded in the direction the sparrow had taken off in. "That was my favorite."

"A sparrow?" He asked clearly confused. "Why? It is so ordinary!"

The unintentional slight speared the deeply harbored insecurities that came with being completely unremarkable. She was average. She knew that. That did not mean that once or even on occasion she did not envy the true beauties of the land. However, no was not the time or the place for such reflections.

Things were complicated enough already.

"I think ordinary things are remarkable in their own rights." She shrugged easily and turned back to continue down the road.

"Oh…I didn't…I mean…" She could hear the thumping of his still armored boots behind her.

"It's alright." She replied soothingly. _It doesn't matter anyway; there are things which simply cannot be._ Sagely the mage recited one of the laws of Thedas and of life.

"No. It's not alright." Solona's head snapped up at the change in timber of his voice. _A different Cullen._ Her mind buzzed in warning. "It's not alright the way he looks at you." Cold fury washed over her senses as his energy lasciviously impressed upon her magic.

The mage was aware of the growing alarm pooling in her stomach at what exactly his madness had crafted her as now. "He?" She arched an eyebrow slowly and moved to face him. Instincts aeons old prattled off warnings. Her observances of men told the tale of extreme jealously and his words only supported the assessment. _Dangerous._ Her mind supplied and she knew it to be true. Rage and jealously went hand in hand. She worried that he might regress back to his true Templar nature.

He strode forward and grabbed her. She fought the natural preclusion to struggle in his grip; it would only fuel whatever lunacy he was caught in. "Don't play coy with me." The threat lingered in the air and stifled any question she might have posed. The mage was once more ensnared by a very irate templar and solutions tumbled from her mind like running water.

Things were complicated enough and now she was in predicament before midday. "I am not playing coy." Her tone was cautious and low. A similar pitch would have been used to calm a wounded animal.

His fingers coiled tighter around her arms and she winced. Solona knew a bruise would form later as a result of his attention. "You are _mine_ Solona." He hissed an inch from her face and parted her lips in true surprise.

"Of course I am." Her goal was to alleviate the tense situation. Her eyes gazed into his unblinking.

"Say it." His voice was hoarse form want and desperation. She swallowed at the raw need reflected in his energy and eyes. "Tell me that I have not betrayed my vows for nothing." He pulled her close to his chest and she found breathing to be constricted pressed so confidingly between his arms. "Tell me that you are mine." His face contorted into a passionate rage. "Say it!"

"I'm yours Cullen." She meant those three Thedas-shattering words. Her body shook from the feeling of ultimate betrayal. Solona felt tears prickle the back of her eyelids as his mouth crushed hers in an unforgiving kiss that demanded everything she never wanted to give. She had told him the truth and in doing so she had given herself away. She had betrayed every sense of logic and wisdom she held dear.

Things had been complicated enough already.


	15. Chapter 15

**Thank you all so very much! I truly adore each and every one of you that takes a moment or tow to review after I spend hours writing these chapters. I really do appreciate it.**

_**Author's note: I think we need a little action in this story! Tell me if I am wrong or right. :D Also, for those that are not aware, this is a bit of a slow moving story. Sorry, but I am building up to some more romantic aspects.**_

**I hope you all had a wonderful New Year! **

**I own nothing.**

**Please Enjoy.**

OoOoOo

He was trapped in the deepest recesses of his subconscious. He was a man forced down by and turned against by his own developed will. _Where am I?_ The befuddled templar had thought amidst the darkness. Cullen felt adrift in a blackened sea of despair and confusion. A part of him was lost and torn among the vast solitude of his mind. To the templar Cullen the whole of his world had been swallowed in the infinite maw of madness. He had felt as if he were trying to fight against the very weight of life itself as his true personage battled mirror images of what he might have been. Who he could have been had fate been a much gentler mistress?

He was losing his battle against the mangling threads of insanity.

Time and reality wrapped and twisted around his thoughts. What was truth and what were lies he could no longer say. Remembering who he had been had become a frequent occurance. Dark needs whispered temptations in his despondency. Years spent listening to sermons of virtue and faithfulness allowed the fractured man to be lead back to his prime self. Templar Cullen had clung to the ridged rules of the Chantry with a fervor that could have been described as obsessive. The Chant became his light and his existence as he waited in the mist of delirium. Each time a manifestation of another alter-ego ventured forth into the land using his body as its conduit; he was pushed farther and farther from control. It had prompted a primal rage to fight against the flowing tide of raw and powerful emotions. He denied the sickly tempting lies that his own sinful heart produced. Most of all Templar Cullen prayed for the strength to win against the demons of his own making.

There is a saying that was spoken at the very birth of mankind that he remembered with an ironic sadness. Templar Cullen was his own worst enemy. He allowed that the Mage Amell was most decidedly a close second upon the list of people that would bring about his downfall. Even in the inky depths of his witlessness, he could see those haunting eyes. It was the mage's plain luminescent hazel shade that colored his dreams and his nightmares. The Fade eagerly provided the horrifying visions that had been woven from half-remembered and stolen moments through eyes that did not belong to his true self. Templar Cullen was tormented by the repulsive reminiscing of the exact softness of her lips and the melodic tone of her laugh.

The pious swordsman inside of him bellowed in outrage at the wicked actions that the apostate had allowed; or worse orchestrated. He was incised that the 'cursed' should make such a mockery of his vows. The templar inside of him hated the mage with a passion that burned with such a white-hot intensity that Cullen wondered how his belly and throat did not burn into ashes. Grudgingly, his foremost conscious thought betrayed the very tell-tale feeling of fear. It was true that Templar Cullen feared the mage for reasons he did not fully comprehend. How could he not? The man was forced from the only part of life that had ever been stable or afforded him any modicum of comfort. He was Templar Cullen, the hunter of apostates and servant of the Chantry. He was a man who found himself very much in possession of a fractured mind and in the control of the most cunning mage in all of Thedas. However, he remained fiercely loyal to his teachings. He cloaked himself in the mantra that he was a templar and would not falter.

Yet, as immeasurable as his abhorrence of the apostate was, there was another strand of emotion that silkily spun around his heart. _Respect_, prompted a whisper form the echoing murky depths of madness. The apostate was a something he could not quantify. The mage could have left him to die, but she had chosen not to. Cullen understood that the apostate seemed to continuously attempt to save him. It went against the very laws of nature for a mage to protect a templar. Templars were given the duty of protecting the mages, and keeping them from causing chaos. _Why is she doing this? _He had felt the gaping chasm of confusion press upon him again. For all of her faults and evil nature, he still respected Mage Amell.

He was losing his battle against the mangling threads of insanity.

The man waited in silence that stretched from the very edges of his soul. Here, he would stay until the terrifyingly fickle and harsh force of the Lyrium withdrawal had stayed its near murderous hand. Templar Cullen stared out into the darkness and fought against the images and remembrances beholden in eyes that were not his own.

OoOoOo

She should have pushed him away, but she did not. She should have objected to the bruising weight of his lips upon her own; yet, she could not. Solona trembled in his arms as she desperately clung to the few precious moments she greedily stole in a fantasy world where her foolish heart could pretend that he was kissing her of his own accord and not because he was gripped by madness. It was so very wrong her mind clambered at the lunacy of her selfish desires. She was taking advantage of a man clearly out of his mind.

Was this what it meant to be human?

Reasons rampaged through her thoughts of why this was so very reprehensible. She could have given copious argumentation over the bounds she was crossing. Solona knew that this was a fool's errand. She was sure of the disastrous effects this would have on her newest plans. The mage felt the hot tears slice across her cheeks as she wept for a reason she could not say. She had never been good at sorting out emotional matters. She was nothing more than a face in the background. That was all she had ever allowed herself to be. So many years had been spent trying to carve an existence out of being nearly invisible that to be seen, truly seen, after so long left her in a whirlwind of confusion and self vexation.

She knew she wanted him. _Maker help me, but I do._ Her mind called out achingly and cut through the haze of lost feelings. Viciously, she had squashed the pleading cry down before it could sway her into anything rash. Solona understood that nothing could ever exist between them. Not only would it be ill-advised, but it would never occur because he had cause to hate her and it was his obligation to bring her back to what he called Chantry justice. She could not begrudge him the right to try, but she would fight him until no breath remained in her body. He would hunt her to the ends of the earth, she reflected, and she would nevermore be trapped again.

It felt like a lifetime when she finally disentangled herself from his embrace. Solona was struggling under the strain of so many suppressed sentiments. There were so many things she wanted to say, but simply could not express. The words died before they could even leap into her throat, where her heart currently sat while it raced at the contact and intimacy of the Templar.

Was this what it meant to be human?

"Pardon me, Miss? Are you well?" Cullen asked, his face was the picture of innocent trepidation.

Solona could feel her features set into a carefully sculpted mask of indifference. It was the grace of years of practice that saved her from revealing the inner turmoil that boiled abraded underneath the surface. She swallowed once, her eyes flicking up to caress the outline of his face before steadying upon his own inquisitive orbs. "I am well." The breeze played lightly with the cooling trails of her shed tears.

She watched as the addled man looked about the road. "Are you headed toward Ostagar?" His smile was genuine and he fidgeted in a manner that suggested that he was uncomfortable with the growing silence.

Her stance shrunk slightly as she began the newest workings of deceit. It was a dance that Solona new the steps to exceedingly well. She bowed her head and blinked once at the red-dirt crunched beneath her shoe, conjuring back tears. "Yes. I am headed that way." She scrutinized the posture of her companion as she attempted to figure out who his sickness lead him to believe he was. It was best, she had observed, to watch and wait for precious information as to the nature of his delusion.

"Ah." He muttered in a non-committal way.

Solona looked back up at his face, which had become slightly red due to the heat and she belatedly remembered that they had not taken a break for sustenance in quite a few hours. The mage was highly displeased by her inattentiveness and sought the proper course of action to manipulate the situation to a result she desired. "Would you care to partake of some water? You look parched." She stated conversationally and reached for the bag she had re-claimed from his person. Solona knew that allowing a man with a fractured psyche, no matter how temporary the situation, to watch over their meager supplies would not be a wise decision.

Solona could tell that the suggestion pleased him when his eyes lit up slightly and fine lines appeared around his eyes. She committed the physical narrative to memory. Vaguely, she wondered just how many stolen remembrances she could gleam in the shortening time they would have together. She withdrew the water skin and pressed it into the waiting hands of her traveling companion.

The rumbling of hooves had startled her from her secret musings. Solona listed intently to the sound of groaning wood and the faint reverberation of laughter. Her mind filtered through the possible forms of people that would use the Imperial Highway so close to Ostagar. Immediately she settled upon the two most likely candidates, of which were soldiers and traders. The mage willed her body not to tense and her gaze lingered on the templar for only a moment. She noted that he was in plain garb with the exception of his armored feet, but that could readily be explained away; her mind busily formulated the stories and excuses which would be accepted with the greatest ease.

"It would seem the road is busy today." The shy comment burst forth from her former captor. Solona was entirely too cautious to pry her eyes away from the approaching travelers to look at the man who was speaking.

"So it appears." She replied apathetically. Her thoughts swirled around the possible outcomes of interacting with the unknown persons that drew closer. She could make out a single wagon with one brown horse dragging it steadily onward. The mage repressed the beguiling song of her magic, and left the templar bereft of all spellbinding. She took a moment to peer back at Cullen and her mouth pressed into a firm line of displeasure when she noted the glazed gleam to his eyes.

"You have my thanks for the water, Miss…?" His arms outstretched to hand her back the water skin. She reached a hand to take it back and without taking her eyes off of the approaching wagon, she stored it back within her pack.

"Solona." The mage replied for the fifth time in their acquaintanceship.

"Miss Solona." She could hear him reply brightly. "My name is Cullen. It is a pleasure to meet you." Solona rapidly concluded that this was another friendly persona of her ward, but she was still uncertain as to what he believed was his station in life.

"The pleasure is mine." Her reply was civilized and practiced like all standard greetings preferably are.

The chattering and laughing of the inhabitants of the wagon died abruptly when they were spotted. Solona molded her features to reflect happiness and relief. She could feel the eyes of Cullen on her with piqued interest. Perhaps, if she played her part correctly, the owner of the wagon might see fit to take them to Ostagar on the wagon. She knew this would take days off their journey and part of her was pleased by the aspect of cutting her exposure to the confusing situation short.

From her view she appraised the wagon. She could see one lone driver and she deduced that there must be a passenger or two in the covered back. If there was not, she mused lightly, she would have two addle-minded men to deal with. _One does not laugh at nothing._ Her mind supplied readily.

"Greetings!" She called out sweetly. Her body shifted to show anticipation and a touch of wariness. Solona knew that appearing too kind in disposition would either make a being suspicious, or leave you open as a target to be taken advantage of.

The man pulled upon the reigns and the wagon slowed. A man, she would have surmised to be in his late twenties, with blonde hair and viridian eyes gazed down at her. "Greetings." He repeated and she watched a grin split on his face.

"Forgive me for the impertinence." Solona smiled and ducked her head shyly. She knew that with a man close to her own age the simplest course of action would be to use allurement. While she was not an overly pretty woman, she was attractive in her own right. The mage had often observed in the tower, the many uses of flirtation. It was not her first choice because Solona often felt that misleading the hearts of men was a bit too crass for her liking. However, now was not the time to debate over her preferences. "But, I was hoping that my friend and I," She spared a glance in Cullen's direction while keeping her full attention on the driver of the wagon. "Could ride with you for a little while? You are headed toward Ostagar, are you not?"

_Dangerous._ Her instincts warned when the man gazed at her with blatant animalism. "I suppose I could." He leered at Solona, his teeth gleaming softly in the fading rays of the sunlight. "What would I gain in return for my generosity?"

"Now see here Ser!" Solona backed up slightly toward the enraged voice of her hunter. "I will not tolerate you speaking to a lady in such a manner." She could feel his energy crackling the air between them. It was almost as if he were searching for her magic, trying to see if she was alright.

The blond man sighed with great exaggeration. "That's a pity, that is." She watched him roll his eyes heavenward and then he grinned again. "I suppose we will just have to remove you from the situation then, won't we men?"

The mage felt the deep spike of disquietude. She looked upon the face of three or four men and Solona felt the dawning of fear when she took in the appearance of their dress. The men looked at her with varying degrees of inquisitiveness and covetousness as they hefted weapons that radiated with malice in the dimming light.

"Get behind me!" She heard Cullen roar as he pulled her forcibly backward. Cunning thoughts spun rapidly through her mind. She scanned the scene before her and quelled the rampaging emotions. _There are four men, reasonably close together. They have leather armor, which does not allot them a large amount of resistance. _She listened intently as the crunching of boots clambered on the dirt road. Her more strict nature warned her that to expose her magic would alert the hunters that still held her phylactery captive. Yet, failing to exterminate the threat now could lead to her death or Cullen's. _Is it a great enough threat?_

The light caressed the side profile of her hunter's face and a clenching in her heart answered the question. She gazed back at the men's weapons as they jeered at the templar, who was sans his armor because of her coaxing. Fear, concern, and anger warred tightly within her as the first dulcet tones of her magic sung form her body. Solona could feel the warm pull of magic coiling, coiling, coiling, and then her hands unleashed a symphony of power. _Four of them, close together._

Her feet moved of their own accord as she rushed to the templar's side and barreled into him with all her weight. They toppled sideways as an inferno of magic erupted over and around the would-be plunderers. Their howls of anguish and the stench of burning flesh filled the air.

"Mage Amell?" The ghostly whisper of his true self resounded in her ears. She opened her previously closed eyes and gazed into the clarity of sanity. The hot gusts of air washed over the pair and time suspended itself as she watched his energy hungrily devour par t of her released magic. She opened her mouth and willed the words to spill forth between them, but only the agonized cries of those caught in the inferno stretched between them.

"You bitch! I'll kill you for that!" Solona saw from her prone position, the blond man was charging forward. She gripped the templar tighter purely upon reflex and she felt him shift to shield her from whatever blow was sure to come their way.

Her mind rebelled at the thought of giving the templar, her hunter, anymore of her magic. She puzzled quietly over how much more he would be able to absorb before it would rival a dose of lyrium for him and begin the process anew. The need to live outweighed the worry over the consequences as she pulled upon the song of her magic yet again. Her feelings revolved around stopping the assailant. The song grew hard and unyielding to reflect its mistress's will. The words and notes flowed freely in her mind as she cast the spell to end the man's life.

The man froze in place as his skin instantly changed to stone. Solona drew a shaky breath as she felt Cullen's energy force itself upon her magic as if sensing an abundance of enchantment. Her eyes locked onto the statue before them as the inferno cast a ghastly glow about the her target. The glimmering shards of what had once been flesh, exploded with a quiet ferocity when a large earthen fist slammed into the statue. Solona knew she was little more than a tool for the chantry, no more than a power source for the templars, and ostracized by the whole of society. Yet, on this night she had used her magic in a way that she never would have contemplated before. She had taken lives with the lyrical tune of her magic. She had killed to protect and the thought troubled her deeply. Her face registered nothing of her bereavement, however as she stared at neutral amber orbs.

Was this what it meant to be human?

OoOoOo

Cullen was aware of being swiftly imposed back into his body as the weight of another slammed into him with enough force to topple him to the ground. His psyche merged with the one that had controlled him only moments before. Templar Cullen felt as if he were watching the scene from a very faraway place when the bandits had threatened his captive. Who he had been before, had been terrified but unable to leave Mage Amell to fate worse than death.

The apostate had saved them both.

The mage's face had been so impassive when the last man lay dead by her hand that the Templar had almost failed to breathe. He had watched her eyes glow as a testament to the magic she was wielding. Her eyes, he noticed, were lovely when the song of her magic brushed over him. He was struck at once by the unusual attraction to her song. He was templar, he knew that each song was different with each mage. Some songs were very hard to tolerate and others were beguiling. With alarm he knew that Mage Amell's was more than beguiling to his lyrium0deprived senses.

Templar Cullen watched her move to stand and he righted himself as soon as her weight was lifted. They stood side by side staring at the dying flames of her inferno. Training had erected itself in his mind as he calculated that her magic was not overly strong nor was it weak. Yet, another thing that was completely average about this apostate.

"We had better get going." She said softly and the templar nearly had to strain to hear her.

"You will have to answer for this crime apostate." His voice was harsh and cold. He knew that she had only sought to protect them both, but renegade mages were not permitted to use magic to harm even in defense of their lives. Templar Cullen had agreed with that rule once, now he was not entirely certain if he still held it as steadfastly as he had prior to meeting Mage Amell.

"I have no fear of that Templar." She turned to him and replied blandly. "I will never go back to the Tower, my determination has not wavered."

"Neither has mine." He growled lowly. His eyes bored into her with tenacity.

He watched the bittersweet smile that danced upon her lips as the last of the firelight faded and the darkness encroached upon the lone pair. "I know." The mage stated, her tone betraying that she was quiescent; to what he did not know.

What he did know was that the apostate had saved them both.

"Thank you." He cleared his throat; his pride roared that he had no need to thank the apostate. He watched the single nod of her head in the darkness. He felt the flutter of his heart and wondered briefly which of his personas was responsible for it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Thank you all so very much for taking the time to give me your input! Every last person who reviewed has my sincerest thanks. Also, as a special not I thank 'coldblossom' for the idea of a bathing scene. :D And 'Sparkly-elf 'for the lovely and highly detailed reviews!**

_**Author's note: I know now that a few readers are**_ _**both happy/irritated that Cullen is still being a bit of a pill where Solona is concerned. However, let me defend that for a moment! :D I wanted to make this more realistic and in all honesty, if a person is brainwashed for years to believe one thing and gets confronted with another it takes a lot of time to get over that. So, you do have my apologies if it seems to be taking too long, I really am sorry, but I want this to be a bittersweet romance. There will be romance I assure you.**_

_**Please just stay with me on this… Also you will notice I call him Templar Cullen when he is reverting to his harsher self (Chantry self) and Cullen when he is sweet or acting without the influence of the Chantry.**_

_**P.S. Also, 'Rumors' is going slower than I thought; Still going to finish but the amount of reviews for the amount of time I pour into it is sadly mismatched. So it will be updated a bit infrequently.**_

**I own nothing, Bioware does….sadly. Rated M…obviously for future chapters.**

OoOoOo

Solona knew she shivered under the tremendous weight of her self-repulsion as the last traces of human ash clung to her eyelashes as it played the grim reminder of what she had done. Every mage that had ever walked the land, confined for a period of time within the confining walls of the Circle tower, understood death with a disconsolate clarity only garnered from having been exposed to the horrors of life at a tender age. Therefore, it had not been a new occurrence to see the twisted blackened skeletons of the men she had slain. The circle had often housed deaths by age, accident, or templar slaying. Solona granted that said slayings were always the result of demonic possession or dabbling in the dark school of blood magic. Those events had left her seasoned and wiser in the law of the world.

Her hunters would know where she was by now.

The mage knew the innermost workings of death. She had seen with her own eyes the exact moment when the spirit left the mortal vessel and left behind the gaping maw of emotional turmoil for all those left to deal with the loss of a loved one or friend. She could count one eight fingers the number of times she had born witness to a fellow mage having been turned into a life-craving monster that could only bring destructions and carnage in its' wake. When she had been younger it had been harder to swallow the acidic bile that unwaveringly rose in her throat and to clear the film of tears from her eyes lest her resolve crumble in front of prying eyes. Yet, with each passing season locked away from the world and her own self-imposed deprivation of human contact, she had jaded herself from the fear that nipped quickly on the heels of viewing death in all its' hideous splendor. What had stripped the young woman of her unmovable continence now, was the knowledge that she had taken those lives. It had been her magic that robbed them of years they otherwise may have been afforded.

Plain hazel eyes had stared bleakly at the proof of her eradication of their would-be attackers. Part of her had risen to sooth the inner moral distress as it pleaded that the men would have harmed them both or done even worse. The self-preservation in her argued loudly that what she had done was harsh but necessary; even more so that it was the only logical thing to do given the damning circumstances. Snippets of knowledge gleamed from a lifetime of instruction came unbidden to the forefront of her thoughts. She was a mage, she was meant for the eradication of enemies of Fereldan. Mages were tools to be used as the Chantry saw fit. Her mind supplied readily that she had always been told this, though she had not once ever wanted to so ill used by an institution she feared above all else.

Her human nature fought vigorously against the cold logic and comforting excuses she attempted to wrap herself tightly in. She had killed five men, no matter how wicked, she had murdered them. The guilt welled with frightening heaviness in the deepest recess of her heart. Her eyes had fluttered closed at the sight of the charred teeth grinning mockingly up at her underneath the silvery starlight. Solona shakily wondered how she could escape the screams ringing without mercy in her ears.

Her hunters would know where she was by now.

Her fingers clenched and curled of their own accord as her mind immediately hurtled into the possible implication of what the defense of self and the templar would cost her. _Foolish._ Her mind hissed with high agitation. _Impulsive!_ It berated further and Solona clenched her teeth against the threat of drowning in a wave of hapless fury. _Reckless._ Her eyes snapped open to the soft crunch of booted-feet on the dirt road. She could hear her hunter shift behind her. She had killed while being an apostate in possession of a lyrium deprived templar suffering from madness associated with his crippling dependence.

If she were captured by another set of hunters and somehow brought before the Chantry; she would be executed. Even the rite of tranquility, as ghastly as the emotionless hell was, would no longer be an option for her rebellion. Though she had understood her situation was perilous before; Solona now knew with dreadful certainty that being overtaken after what she had committed would only conclude with her demise. How could she have been so reckless? _This is precisely the reason why you do not take risks._ She should never have stopped.

Warmth slipped slowly down her pale cheeks as her plain eyes had turned toward the sky in silent prayer. She had long ago chosen to stop such a frivolous practice for Solona understood that the Maker was an absent God. She knew that with every spell uttered and moment suspended in the Fade. Yet, she prayed for a life that would be worth living. She had prayed for mercy in a world fraught with hypocrisy and heinous crimes against her fellow mages.

The soft intake of breath close to her person brought her crashing back down to the present situation with boorish haste. "Come now, Mage Amell. " The pious swordsman behind her commanded almost softly.

She had carefully selected not to remove her sight from the endless night sky. Her mask of aloofness would never have been able to hold up under the intensity of his stare. Solona knew she needed a few breaths to compose herself. She struggled to keep her tone neutral and free of hoarseness. "Please." The young mage uttered, her voice was not nearly as controlled as would have been appropriate. "I only require a moment."

She understood that she required the moment to plan what would undoubting come next. The variables were far too copious for her liking, but she had no other alternatives. Solona was unsure of how long the large dose of her magic would hold the withdrawals at bay. She knew that the pull of the lingering sorcery would a light her phylactery as brightly as a beacon. The mage carefully accounted for every precarious detail of her current state. She had very little coin still hidden in the folds of her robe and precious few supplies. She understood that she still had a ways to travel to get the templar to Lothering where he would be able to garner medical attention. She was emotionally and physically exhausted from the past forty-eight hours. Her appearance was disheveled and she her scent unmistakable. There was no recourse; she had to force the templar by any means necessary down the Imperial highway and to their destination with the greatest speed if she stood any chance of eluding her second wave of hunters.

The young mage jutted her chin out slightly in a gesture of defiance against what she knew to be nearly insurmountable odds and turned slowly to the guarded amber stare of her ward. There was no time to give into the folly of human emotion again. _I cannot afford to take another risk._ Her heart clambered within the confines of her chest at the terrifying reality that her hunters knew where she was; and yet, the deepest parts of her were afraid to admit that all she truly worried about were the ramifications that would fall upon Cullen if they were caught together.

OoOoOo

Templar Cullen had weathered many intimidating occurrences. He was known for his bravery in the face of danger and his unrelenting tenacity to always see a task to completion. However, for all of his battle experience, he had found himself rather unnerved by the sight that taunted him almost unintentionally. He had never been one to be crueler than was needed nor was he kinder than was called for. Templar Cullen was known for his intelligence on the battlefield and his considerable tactical abilities; but nothing in his vast experience could have prepared him the journey he had been forced to endure nor the situation at hand.

The mage was crying and he had no inkling on how to soothe her.

He could handle being on the cusp of death. He could fight against an enemy that outnumbered him ten to one. Unfortunately, he had no experience in calming upset women. Templar training dictated that he alienate himself from anything mage or fade-touched. His only obligation was to be an obedient tool of the Chantry for use as the Grand Cleric saw fit. A templar was never to associate with a mage more than was absolutely needed except in the battle field where a mage was then elevated to an almost human or elven status. Cullen abstractly pondered why the Chantry ruled a mage as a wretched creature but then commanded one to be present within ever templar squadron. The strict influence of the Chantry roared across the synapses of his mind with a righteous fire over the abhorrent murder the apostate had committed in cold blood. He was sickened at the dying screams of bandits even though he knew very well what would have occurred if the mage had not defended them. Templar Cullen grudgingly admitted, if only to himself, that he had been in a less than ideal condition to fight against five armed foes. _The apostate is causing me to question infallible law._ The templar side of him growled in a wrath-filled frenzy.

Why did it matter that the mage cried? If she were only human as she had told him, then it was simply a natural function and therefore of little consequence. Perhaps he was not in his wholly himself if the apostate was still affecting him? Templar Cullen grasped the thought tightly and resolutely went about searching the innermost workings of his mind against the much lightened murky veil of madness. After a few tense heartbeats, he had determined that he could no longer feel the pressing of his other selves seeking dominance over his corporeal body. It was shockingly disorienting to be suddenly without the calamity he had become accustomed to within his own mind. Therefore, he could not dismiss the apostate's actions and subsequent slaying of five men. _I have slain too._ The traitorous softer side of him prompted unceremoniously. He knew it to be true; he could recall every face, every look of terror or resignation as he had cut down the mages as he had been instructed or as duty demanded. Templar Cullen reflected that Mage Amell was not someone he would have spared a passing glance too had they met within the secure wall of the Tower.

_So why then_, he queried with alarm, _do I still feel drawn to the apostate?_ He had speculatively eyed the apostate with poorly disguised reserve. He understood she was a cursed being for she was a mage. He remembered with distinctness the teaching of the Chantry about the inherent vileness that was associated with her ilk. He knew that these factors had not changed, would never change, and yet, he acquiesced that she was human. Cullen felt the tumultuous truths advance against the bigoted views of his faith when he recalled the exact sadness in the lines of her mouth as the final blow had been struck. He remembered the precise glow of her quotidian hazel eyes when she had thrown herself upon him in an entrancing display of selfishness he never would have credited her capable of. The templar had lived with and through her treachery and cunning. He had been given, in great detail, the lengths and planning she would go to in order to gain the advantage. Try as he might, he could not think of what the advantage she could have gained from saving him was. The templar was privy to the knowledge that she would receive no leniency from the Grand Cleric for keeping him alive.

The thought had unsettled him even more. Even though her motives still left him beyond confounded, it was the knowledge that an unkind fate awaited Mage Amell that caused his chest to ache. Cullen had felt that the whole of Thedas had been ripped inside-out when he stared into the mage's eyes that kept within them an unfathomable sadness. Everything that he had come to believe as commonplace as breathing; that all mage's reviled in devastation and chaos unraveled before him in the guise of the woman standing four feet away.

The mage was crying and he had no inkling on how to soothe her.

His harsher nature argued that he should have no want to soothe her. She was his captive, she was a mage, and she was an apostate who had repeatedly betrayed those that where fool-hardy enough to place a modicum of trust within her cut-throat nature. _Yet, she healed me when it would have been wiser to let me die. She did not leave me to wander the land to die of starvation or circumstance like a beast. _His temples throbbed lowly at the heretic thoughts that danced mockingly within him. What he dangerously and foolishly gave consequence too was heresy. Cullen grit his teeth to prevent the sharp his of disbelief from escaping into the night air. He was loathe to give the apostate yet another noose to hang him with and chose instead to direct the current state of affairs into a more palatable direction.

"Come Mage Amell." He prompted again with less of an edge to his tone. "Let us find a river. We are in need of more water, no doubt." Cullen felt his chest give a painful lurch at the glistening of the crystalline tears upon her pallid cheeks. The man felt at a complete loss and all of his time spent within the Chantry and later the tower afforded him no set protocol on how to respond to the unfamiliar feeling.

He watched her nod a silent acceptance to his words. Then her head had turned back toward the still smoldering corpses. "Should we not check for useful supplies?" He froze internally at the slight wavering in her voice. Templar Cullen could feel the pressing of another part of him, it came upon him suddenly, but he was still in full control of his senses. The weight of empathy crashed over him with brutal dynamism. Templar Cullen remembered the eve of the first life he took and the shock that was common place afterward.

"Yes, we should." He stated slowly as his gazed traced the outline of the nearly untouched wagon. Cullen noticed the defiant lift of her chin as she wobbled unsteady on her locked legs. He gripped her arm tightly to keep her from plummeting to the road below. A lump rose within his throat and for a brief moment he felt as if he were robbed of all breath.

The mage was crying and he had no inkling on how to soothe her.

"Thank you." Her voice sounded so very small to his vigilant ears. He watched as her gaze wrenched from his and she attempted to blink back the evidence of her turmoil. Templar Cullen would not have been so afflicted with a warped sense of compassion for this apostate. Cullen, however, who had been buried beneath the stifling clutches of the Chantry had recently remembered that mages had been humans. He had once seen mages to be people. That Cullen was staring into the unexceptional face of a woman who looked as lost as he.

"It will be alright." The words tumbled from his lips before he had any inclination to stop them. "You did what was necessary." He watched the surprise as it broke across her face and the barest hints of a tender smile, so minuscule that he could almost swear he imagined it, which caused the ache in his chest to ease considerably.

He led her toward the wagon and he had detached himself from her when her gaze had lingered on him overlong. Cullen could feel the pulsing of his heart beneath the surface of his skin. He did not know what had occurred, but only that _something_ had changed between them. It seemed so unremarkable, their exchange, and yet, his templar training alerted him to the alteration in her magic as she scavenged through the wagon for useful items. He had been too perturbed to join her in such close quarters as the back of the covered wagon and therefore had elected to watch the road for signs of more trouble, or any passers-by.

Cullen knew that his resolve was cracking and fracturing at a pace alarmingly similar to his psyche. The templar fervently resolved to put as much distance between him and Mage Amell as was possible. He rationalized against the growing sense of panic that he would be back in the welcoming arms of his former life shortly. Templar Cullen needed to be freed from the contradictory Mage Amell with the utmost haste.

He vows would very well fall forfeit if she cried again.

OoOoOo

Solona leapt into the back of the wagon and immediately sought to take a few silent deep breaths. Her fingers trembled as she fought to block out all but the most basic thoughts from her already turbulent emotions. She busied her body in a slew of motions and searching. The young mage overturned sacks and pried open a few crates with her bare fingers. The flecks of wood that embedded underneath her nails stung and she quietly thanked the distraction it provided. _There will be time to sort this out in the fade. Right now I must focus on survival. _

Time was running out.

The glint of metal from the moon's emanation had turned her attention to a small hole in a board at the bed of the wagon. Quietly, Solona gracefully knelt down and slipped two fingers into a rough-hewn crescent cavity. She gave a precautionary glance over her left shoulder to find the silhouette of the templar standing where she had last seen him. She turned her attention back to what she concluded to be a secret cache of the bandits. She gently pried the board loose and pushed it gingerly out of the way. A bland leather pouch spilled the contents of itself wondrously inside the small niche. Solona swallowed reflexively at the sight of the ill-gotten gains of the men she had slain. Her nimble fingers pushed the coins softly back into the purse.

"Have you found anything Mage Amell?" The low timber of her ward caused her to tense and she cursed her oversight at forgetting to make some sort of noise.

"I have found a few healing poultices and some loose articles of clothing." Her voice was picturesque of tranquility as she lifted the hem of her robe to hide some of the larger coins. "I have also found some coins." Solona tucked the remaining funds back into the pouch and gathered the other mentioned items to show her companion.

Time was running out.

She crouched down to exit the wagon and her arms were laden with the plundered items. Solona swung the pack down from her shoulder onto her wrist and set it down softly onto the road. She opened the flap and deposited the items as neatly as she could manage. As she expected, the templar held out his hand to take the pack from her when she had finished the task. Solona extended the pack to him without a fight as it would serve no purpose and she could not risk him falling victim to another fit of rage. She needed him to regress back into a maddened state.

"Shall we find water now?" Her question was met with a curt nod. They were still running parallel to the network of freshwater rivers fed from the snow caps of the Southron Hills. Solona marched them forward at a brisker pace than normal. Her mind still reeled with the burden of her deeds. She could feel the ash as it clung to her skin which felt as if it were crawling to get away. She was outwardly composed and inwardly she was close to terrified. _How long will he be lucid?_ She pondered with worry. He could become a large hindrance in her plans and if it came down to it, she might have to take action against him should he try to delay her escape.

Solona exhaled sharply against the darkness as they wove through the trees in the direction she vividly recalled the streams being according to the map in the tower. The young mage stole a few glances back at the templar and tried in vain to forget the way his face had softened as he had tried to reassure her of her actions. She was grateful that he had not condemned her for what had to be done. Solona could feel the quickening of her heart as she reminded herself once again that nothing could ever come to pass between the two of them no matter how much she might wish it to the contrary. She had no place with him. She was a murderess and an apostate. Her hunters were likely already tearing a blaze across the face of Fereldan.

Time was running out.


	17. Chapter 17

**May all my fellow writers do absolutely excellent in their endeavors! I wanted to take another moment to make sure that my reviewers know how much your feedback means. I really thank you for that. I know that it can be a lot to ask for, because reviewing for every story you read can cause carpal tunnel syndrome…but I thank you for risking that for my sake :D**

_**Also, I have been rather unsure of my skills as of late. I have started this chapter about four times but I continued erasing it because I kept thinking 'this is crap', so finally, I just couldn't erase anymore. Sorry to say that this was the best I could muster.**_

**I own nothing, please enjoy.**

OoOoOo

The night had been born to a ripe fullness when at last the rushing of the sought-after stream was heard. The two tired and turbulent individuals wove through the trees with a subtle determination that had allotted little mark upon the land. Their footfalls echoed in tune as they had drearily marched forward and Solona listened to the veritable soliloquy in her head that still blatantly criticized her recklessness. She examined and berated every choice she had made, every course of action she should have taken, and lamented briefly the very few options that remained at her disposal.

It would have been considered a courtesy for her to inform the templar of her plans. The young mage knew with reprehensible certainty that the man would forget in time and therefore elected to forgo the pomp and circumstance of a drawn-out conversation. Solona understood the situation in all of its importance. The templar by her side on this moon-lit night was her original hunter; it was his true self if she had judged the sanity emanating from his eyes correctly. It was his regained sense of self and reality that had left her shaken and afraid. She knew she was afraid of what might happen between them and to her newly laid plans born of desperation.

Solona knew that there were just certain things she could not force herself to voice.

The resounding echoes of the slain men's screams roared to life once more there in the night and she had reflected on each agonizing moment. She had analyzed her actions and theirs. Most of all the young mage understood that she wanted to explain it to the templar. She could not quell the rising urge to make sure he knew the reasons for her violence. Solona could not express the clawing of need that wriggled within her chest with cacophonous energy. _It does not matter why it was done._ Her resolve flared brightly to ease the heavy burden of her conscience. _It is done now and nothing will change that fact._

She had stopped at the water's edge and spared a pensive glance at her companion. He stared back at her with the same hardened face he always possessed when within his senses. Solona had chosen to take a moment to study the surrounding area. She could not see anyone else nor hear anything outside the normal twitters of a thriving forest. She closed her eyes and forced her concentration to shift toward a more agreeably collected composure. She had opened her ordinary hazel eyes to the river that beckoned her gently to wash away the harshness of reality. Solona knew her fingers nimbly moved to unclasp the bindings of her robe, which separated her from the purifying liquid.

"What are you doing Mage Amell?" The simultaneously abrupt and astounded voice of the templar had resonated in the apparent silence between them.

Solona had experience the disillusionment of embarrassment at the naked form of the human or elven body. She had resided in the Circle of Magi where dozens of apprentices slept within the same room and same-sex communal bathing had been common place. Even after she had been harrowed, Solona had still shared a room and bathing area with anther mage. Though she was not prone to exposing her form and had taken extreme lengths to fade into the background; she had not been cognizant of the affect that her nudity could have posed upon their current predicament.

"Pardon me." Her tone was distant and cordial. Her face had portrayed nothing more than a mask of pale indifference in the soft glow of the moonlight. "I had quite forgotten you where there." Her vision was filled with amber eyes and the waking horror of towering flames. "I was going to wash the…dust off of me."

""I see." She noted that his expression mirrored her own with a startling accuracy that could have sent shivers down the spine of a lesser mage. His face was nearly perfectly unreadable and Solona longed for something she could not name. She felt the gentle tug of her heartstrings as a part of her cried out that this was all wrong; it had invoked a sense of helplessness at the way things were and had always been.

"I will make haste." She intoned softly, a plea lay nestled in the short sentence to not take this from her. Her body betrayed nothing of the emotions that threatened to drown her in uncharted waters of the sacrifices that needed to be made to save them both from a hellish sort of existence.

"As long as you are quick about it, I will allow it." The templar's voice was reedy and halted. Solona could feel his energy crackle with reluctance and wariness.

The young mage spared only a nod of acknowledgement before she had returned to the task of disrobing. She noted silently that the light of the night sky had illuminated her pale skin in such a way that she felt released of all her restrictions. She relished the obtund cold that had burned a near fiery trail of numbness up her limbs. The atramentous night had only served to exacerbate the chill as Solona hastened to immerse her grime-encrusted body into the water. Her mind had fought valiantly to keep the anguish and uncertainty at bay. The fist brisk exposure of the water that had broken upon her skin cleaved a path of simplicity that left her feeling marginally cleansed of her past misdeeds.

Solona knew that there were just certain things she could not force herself to voice.

_How do I say goodbye?_ The crystalline thought blurred out from the stolen moments of inner silence. She had never been a situation even close to this where her feelings had threatened to overwhelm the calculating nature of logic. Solona reflected lightly that she had never said 'goodbye' to anyone for she had never been forced to leave behind any person she would have missed. Yet, she knew that she would have to figure the matter out with the utmost haste, for she would long for Cullen. She understood that she had unwittingly allowed the pious swordsman to spirit away her affections. In bittersweet acceptance, she understood that her actions toward the bandits had stemmed from fear for the templar. There was little recourse except to hold those precious new emotions close to her heart where they would be unable to interfere with what needed to be done.

The ash and dirt of the road was vigorously rubbed away and she had noted with apathy that the chilled water left her skin reddened. She forced herself to see the situation at hand barring everything with the exception of the facts. What she felt for him had no place in her plans. She would have to leave him in Lothering, or as close to the city as was possible. Perhaps it would be in her best interest to seclude him off in a nearby location and alert the Chantry as she passed through. Though she was not fond of that option, she still considered it viable despite the increased risk to Cullen. _To the templar._ She amended firmly; she had to think of him in terms of a station and not a person if she was to keep her resolve. She had prayed that it would make the task easier, though she doubted it would have any effect at all. If she waivered it could mean the end of her.

Subdued hazel eyes vacantly became aware of biting unpleseantness, which bordered on pain, of the chilled water. Her face and upper body had been scrubbed clean and she shivered in the ever-cooling night. Deadened limbs had forced themselves back into the sleeves of her robe and her numb fingers fumbled with the fastenings on top. "I am finished." She stated solemnly to the back of the templar.

She watched as he turned to her, and his eyes flicked quietly about her face. Solona had returned his guarded stare with one of stark honesty that carried in it all the frustration, remorse, yearning, and frail hope that lurked deep within the confines of a woman who cared deeply for someone that she could never have.

Solona knew that there were just certain things she could not force herself to voice.

OoOoOo

He could still hear every deafening splash of water upon her skin. The tension laced quiet permeated his very bones in the sparse breaths between the splattering of water and this moment suspended by the unfathomable openness in her eyes. His senses roared in hyper awareness as the encroaching mist of madness strengthened once more. The swirling of thoughts not his own bridged part of the gaping maw of insanity and the thin veil sequestering his other personas has become stretched and torn. Cullen harshly quelled the risen emotions of lust, regret, and ardency that welled hotly in his chest. Anger had budded softly alongside the unwelcomed feelings and he tried with great vigor to cultivate it above the others but the flashes of her milky white neck wove through his thoughts. The templar Cullen was agitated that such weakness should be shown over a mage of all things; however it was difficult to fully disregard the images. His embedded Chantry training reared against the insurgence of such heavy human emotions.

Madness be damned, he would stand by his duties.

He knew that he should see her as nothing more than the apostate she was, but his mind conjured up wanton images steeped deeply in unbidden desire. The prickling of madness and pain has started again and Cullen knew that it carried with it a greater vulnerability to the mage. However, what he feared most was the temptation the mage could offer. Templar Cullen had spent countless years inside his skin and mind. He had given copious hours to inner understanding of oneself and knew beyond the identity of templar that he had assimilated lay the bestial man he relied heavily upon in times of battle. Templar Cullen had long ago trapped the beast of basic human want behind the strict teachings of the Chantry.

The carnal aspect of his personality jutted out amongst the others in a similar fashion of an amaryllis amongst daises. He worried over the strange and twisted form of possessiveness that attached itself to the anger where she was concerned. He had been suddenly beset by the near stifling urge to keep her close and away from danger because in a manner of speaking she belonged to him. _I have to keep her with me to take back to the Circle of Magi, to be brought to justice._ His templar side reasoned with seriousness, but the baser side of his emotions was not inclined to fully agree.

The gray fog of delirium grew steadily denser the longer he was away from her and the beguiling lure of her eyes. The song of her magic thrummed in a pounding beat to his lyrium starved senses. Templar Cullen knew that he needed her and the equal parts of hate and longing blurred at the recognition. He could hear the buzzing of his other personas as the shroud of his mental clarity became threadbare. He could hear thoughts that were not wholly his own whispered temptations both revolting and appealing in the darkest parts of his mind. Intense moments of understanding dawned upon him slowly. He wanted her the way any man would want a woman. He despised her because of what she was. Yet, he had come to respect and value her for who she was, confusing as it had been to him. He knew she was an apostate and still had to answer for the crimes she had committed. Templar Cullen understood that no matter the outcome of this madness he would still be a templar and she would still be a mage.

Madness be damned, he would stand by his duties.

Those thoughts had gone against everything he knew and valued. He could not shake the terror that beaded along his spine at the close proximity of the object of his newly discovered lust. Templar Cullen had never given an inch in battle, he had never submitted to fear despite overwhelming odds and certain death; yet, death seemed a much easier obstacle to overcome than the glaring forthright sentiment in Mage Amell's eyes. He was furious at the instinctual reaction such an honest look carried. He knew that she was physically attractive, not beautiful but not repulsive; however, it was something beyond that which caught his attention. He could not help but feel that in some way she was remarkable despite her conniving nature. Templar Cullen had found it odd that even though she was so painfully ordinary including her magic, she was on his thoughts constantly. It was his experience and mistrust that had kept his attention focused solely on her; the resolute role of the templar reminded.

A flash of himself as a farmer's son from his village of Jader seeped quickly from the torn shroud of sanity. He could recall the sweetness of her smile and the warm tingling pressure of her lips. Templar Cullen fairly growled with mounting discouragement at the predicament they were both trapped in. His amber orbs had swept across the lithe form of his captive from the crown of her head to the tips of her cloth covered toes. His gazed lingered on the darkness of her eye lashes against her alabaster skin and the way her quotidian hazel eyes refused to meet his.

"We must bed down for the night." His unsympathetic statement had bit out. The man did not rejoice at the aspect of being so close to the untrustworthy woman. However, another deep seeded kernel of possessiveness demanded that she be near so that he could watch over her and insure her passiveness. Templar code dictated he protect her until justice could be meted out, but the madness comprising the bulk of his cognitive state wanted nothing more than to become lost in the swell of emotional upheaval.

"Yes, of course." The Mage Amell stated with detached inflection. The tendrils of hair closest to her face where damp and he watched as she shivered slightly in the coolness of the night air. He knew that the derangement was creeping in when he had wanted to brush that single lock of hair behind her ear underneath the moon that could see everything. _It is getting harder to concentrate._ His most prominent self hissed in outrage. The gift of sudden mental stability would not last for long.

The steady burning of his malady had etched across his nerves once more, swift upon the heels of insanity. The agony had been anticipated after his first boughs with the misery of lyrium withdrawal. Kneeling, he had forced pain-wracked limbs to move in the near automatic function of setting up their meager camping supplies. His features had twisted into a grimace at the newest torture to spiral into his life upon meeting the most ordinary mage in all of Thedas.

Then he had felt the gentle pressure of her fingertips across his temple and the crooning of her magic across his body. Cullen had felt the pain ease greatly at the first tender strings of song of sorcery. He stared at the honest expression of timid concern on her face and the haunting strains of earnest attrition in her enchantment. It was terribly difficult to weigh the gentleness shown in these few moments against the rigid teachings of the Chantry and other experiences he had seen or heard of. He understood she was the embodiment of everything that his religion, which he believed with every ounce of his being, sought to eradicate in order to bring back the Maker's gaze to the world. Since he had been a child he had been sure in actions and deeds. Now he was gripped by delirium and forced to question all he knew by his own darkest desires. He knew that soon he would be lost to the void again.

Madness be damned, he would stand by his duties.

OoOoOo

She had sought only to lessen the pain she knew he had been in. Her human nature had not altered despite the atrocious act of murder she had committed. Her fingertips danced lightly upon his temples as she conjured a small taste of magic to appease the starved physical dependency of the templar. Solona had not expected the strong grip of his hand on her wrist and the force by which she was yanked to her knees before him to look directly into his face.

Her magic coiled and spun with the nervous emotions that had sprung forth readily at the skin contact. The strain of the reality of nearly dying pressed on them both, she knew that. Part of her wondered vaguely why his hands were shaking. A long and open glance between them had conveyed everything that they both understood to be unchangeable law. He was a templar and she was a mage; there were simply things that could not be. Even under the forgiving gaze of the night sky there was a line, a boundary, which should never be crossed.

Her lips had parted of their own accord and need for physical reassurance from the incident trembled in her veins. Solona closed her eyes and took a deep steadying breath.

"I will not be able to keep hold much longer." He growled softly in helpless rage. Solona knew instantly to what he referred and opened her eyes.

"I thought it would have lasted longer." Her head dipped to hide the brief pang of relief she felt over a partially resolved problem. She startled slightly at the contact of his hand under her chin as it forced her to look up.

"I cannot take pity on you even though you have saved my life." His eyes searched her face and she watched as the templar façade erected itself again. "I will bring you back to the tower."

Solona felt the awkward pull of condescension for she knew that she had the upper hand in this debacle and would never relinquish it. She stared at the man before her blandly without reservation. "I give you leave to try, but in the end you will go back alone."

Silence met her statement with brutal quickness. Amber and hazel clashed. Her magic and his energy warred an impressive battle of wills until hers had waivered. The feel of her magic as it had submitted to him was too much for the emotionally stressed mage to accept. Solona closed the gap between them and her lips conqueringly pressed against his. Her heart stopped at the completely rash action and all coherent thought had ended with the meeting of their mouths.

She could not recall when his hand moved from her wrist to fist tightly in her hair. She knew that her resigned sadness at their eventual parting was expressed through her mouth in very different way than words would accomplish. The heat of tongue against hers coxed a primal whimper from her throat and caused him to crush his mouth tighter against hers. _Submission_. The thought was a strangely sweet one as opposed to the first time she had been forced to submit to his will, now she had done so greedily. Solona understood that this was wrong between them, but she had to collect these moments to hold dear when he would be gone from her life.

Several animalistic breaths passed as she clung in heated abandon to her hunter. Then she slowly untangled herself from their impromptu embrace. She could feel the swollen sting of her lips that were bruised from his kisses. She knew her breathing was ragged and her thoughts jumbled at the ludicrous way she had reacted.

"Mage Amell?" His voice was thick with passion and want. Her eyes had widened at the understanding that this was still her Chantry elected hunter and not a sweet persona of his former self. It made her impulsiveness slightly more bearable in light that she had not taken advantage of him in the midst of the lyrium withdrawal just yet.

"Yes?" Her voice was soft and filled with an equal amount of passion.

"You should get some rest. I will stand watch." She watched his eyes slowly dim from their lustful blaze and she ached to say something, anything, which might create an understanding between them again.

"Templar Cullen…I…" Her thoughts raced in a haphazard attempt to sound coherent. However, she could not find the words to articulate what she felt or what she needed to convey. She knew her eyes were darting about uselessly.

"For tonight Mage Amell, I understand." And she was lost to the absurdity of the situation and the heat of his kiss.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thank you so very much for your reviews! A special thanks to PheonRen for the constructive critiquing and I hope you all enjoy this next installment. I do caution that this was suddenly inspired writing …I have no idea where the inspiration came from, but I hand it to you in a neat and typed little package!**

**I own nothing, please enjoy. **

OoOoOo

He could not explain or even fathom why he had returned what should have been an unwanted advance. He should not have enjoyed the sweetness that had clung to his tongue as he had devoured her mouth. He would have been damned if he could give reason as to why he still ravaged the hot and moist cavern beneath the moon that radiated a pure lack of judgment for his carnal sin. _But it is not a sin, not in truth._ A gentle murmur rose from the murky depths of his mind. A mirror image of himself, whose eyes had yet to darken with the jaded views of life, an innocent persona that viewed every moment with the mage as a chance at some sort of romantic fair-tale; connected through the continuous storm of insanity and had drowned out the roar of thunder brought about by moral conflict.

Could he give into the temptation this woman offered, even once?

The urge to claim her in any way that was not strictly Chantry business went against everything he had ever been taught to believe. It could have been described as astounding because the revelation had forced equal parts of disgust and raging desire flooding through his veins. The thought was terrifying to the staunch templar who had long ago given up any baser desires under the unrealistic image of what a Templar was supposed to be. The ides warred fiercely inside his chest and his fractured mind. He was a templar, bound by vows upon his life and honor to be a dutiful son to the Chantry; bound to be a weapon to fight against evil and heathens in the name of Maker himself. _How then, _he asked the numerous voices that inhabited his broken psyche, _could I feel anything other than hate toward Mage Amell?_

He noticed that she had not fought against the rough way he had captured her lips. He knew that somehow, despite the inherent wrongness of what they willfully sullied themselves with, she wanted him as well. Even in the wake of consuming her magic along with her mouth, the true self of the templar had been unable to deny the thrill that her wanting of him had brought about. _It is not right. It is a sin and an abomination what I am doing._ He heard his more sensible side as it had tried to reason against the nearly overwhelming pull of the mage's essence.

He should have called her out, should have rebuked her for the forwardness in stealing a liberty from him. He could have stopped this mess before it had started, but he had not. It had prickled and grated against his hunter instincts that he had not done these things. He knew he had been lost at the stark shock and unconcealed lust in her eyes. _Those hauntingly hazel eye?_ He recognized the voice that had come from behind the mist of madness and amber orbs so very like his own glanced at him in condescension. Memories had poured forth at the sound of the other jeering at him. Cullen could recall the moments where he had believed Mage Amell was his lover. Remembrances of the insignificant length of time when he had whole-heartedly thought that he was yet free from his vows and stood a chance at an average life with her had filled every thought and touch.

Could he give into the temptation this woman offered, even once?

He could feel the heat of her breath as it mingled with his as he had tried to pour his very conflicts into the war of their tongues. He had nearly growled when she submitted to him yet again. He understood she was letting him take the lead, allowing him to dominate her in a physical way that nearly drove him out of his skin with want. He knew his breathing was ragged as he ravaged her mouth over and over. He knew it was wrong, it was s_ick_, but he could not stop himself in this mock paradise he had found entwined in her body and magic. The templar could feel his energy as it had enflamed in the lustful song of her sorcery as it sung of her want and need of him. Every part of him had burned with such strong sensation at the touch of her skin and the melding dance of their natures.

Her moans, he reflected dimly as the images of her soft smiles and unguarded glances raged alongside the ever-present insanity; caused some part of him to throb as needs he could not understand blossomed awake. He would never forget the softness of her skin and her hair. He could not ignore the way her concern for him had shifted something inside of him that had been buried for so very long. However, his templar side fought viciously against the chattering of madness produced personas that pleaded for him to cast aside his morals for one single night. _I am a templar. _Cullen forced the temptations that flittered inside of him away. _I am a templar._

Templar Cullen had risen from the storm of madness and he pulled back from the enticing lips of Mage Amell. He could tell his breathing was ragged and he tried to crush the swift feeling of smug male pride that burst forth at the disheveled state of the woman before him. In the deepest crevices of his mind, he knew that he would never seen the sight of her undone again, Cullen memorized the exact hue of her eyes and crooning of her magic underneath the pale glow of the moonlight.

He could not give into the temptation this woman offered; not even once. _But you want to, don't you?_ The knowing and simultaneously accusing eyes of his other personas had inquired from behind the darkness encased inside of him.

Then, staring into her eyes, he had found himself locked inside the madness. He knew his body had frozen and pull into his own thoughts was so great he could not fight it. Cullen could see himself in his mind's eye, alone in the single ray of light that existed outside of the withdrawal's influence. The first persona, what he had deduced to be the most difficult of his other selves to overcome, stalked closer to the edge of the light. The first persona had grinned freely there in the blackness with the raging tempest of lost lucidity behind it. Cullen could see the glow of his own eyes stare at him from dimness. He tried in vain not to akin the image to a demon on the prowl in the twisting depths of the fade.

"You could have her, you know." The most basic part of him had purred, its advance had been halted by the barrier of Cullen's true self; the strength of his will and determination to fight against the delirium.

"I cannot." Templar Cullen ground out in finality. He would not succumb and break his vows. He could not fail in this, though he had been bested by a mage of all things.

"You can." The other him coaxed hungrily. "Or I can. You could blame it on the madness." It offered temptingly and Templar Cullen willed himself not to listen.

"It is not right." He cried out at the being mocking him from the murkiness.

The basic part of him cocked its head to one side. "Not right? She wants you, you know that. And I know you want her. How can it not be right?"

"I-I am a templar. I have vows which must be upheld. I cannot waiver." Templar Cullen hissed out in anger and the beginnings of fear. He forced himself not to take a step back further into the light that surrounded him.

It had raised its arms to stroke a soft caress along the barrier between them. "Let me." It had whispered cajolingly. "Let me make her ours." The familiar amber orbs shone hypnotically. "Let me love her."

"I cannot." The templar shouted in outrage. Even though he hated her for what she had done, even though he was still confused by her, and she made him question everything he had ever know; he would never allow any harm to come to her. He had to bring her back to the Tower. He understood that he was a templar and it was still his sworn duty to protect any mage in his custody.

He was her hunter, a servant of the Grand Cleric, and he would protect her; even from himself.

OoOoOo

Solona was keenly aware the moment that his lips ripped apart from hers and had left her breathless. Her tongue had flicked out of its own accord to feel her bruised lips. Plain hazel eyes gazed up at the templar in a silent question that died the moment she had comprehended the glazed look in his eyes. _He is back in the grip of the withdrawals._ She knew her heart seemed to stop in the breath that she had quickly drawn out of sorrow and surprise. Her thoughts were slowed from passion and the loss of such exquisite sensation. She reflected that his kiss was so very different from the ones forced out of manipulation by the merchant she had left behind in the Circle Tower brimming with empty promises she had never intended to keep.

He was not in his right frame of mind; this was the line she could not cross.

The tears had burned stingily at the bottoms of her eyes. The young mage longed for the touch of the templar again. She had felt lost and adrift in a sea of reconcilement to a situation she could not change. The few bittersweet moments wrapped safely in the hungry embrace of her hunter, were cherished quickly and reverently. Solona had spent the majority of her life bereft of contact by her own choice and her skin still tingled from the lingering weight of his caresses. _It was too short._ She mourned softly in her heart. She had shriveled silently as she understood that those kisses would have to last her a lifetime without him.

Her attention shifted back to the immobile templar. She pulled herself out of her harsh musings and her mind conceded that the circumstances as a whole had not changed. Solona understood that her hunters would be after her with renewed vigor due to her display with the bandits. She rubbed a hand to her face to rouse herself to the fullest point of awareness. _Stop being so foolhardy._ Her commonsense reprimanded. _Time is of the essence now and you are wasting it caught in a dreamland!_

She would have been lying if she said it did not bother her to manipulate the only man in all of Thedas that had she could not figure out and could not out maneuver without the assistance of lyrium withdrawals. Solona cared deeply for him and because of that she knew she had to quicken their pace and leave him behind. She understood that she could not waiver. Her conviction hardened quicker than molten lava as it hit the sea. Desperation and affection crafted an obsession to abide by this plan. Plans were everything, had always been everything to Solona and with this latest one she would save his life. The young mage gazed resolutely at the man before her and vowed sincerely that she would protect him. She knew she owed him that much.

Solona watched as his eyes brightened once again and his hands reached for her there in the moonlight. "Templar Cullen?" Her voice and face had returned to their natural state of aloofness.

"Yes?" The young mage felt her magic titter in alarm at the sultry rumble in his voice. _Something is off._ Her instincts cautioned waspishly. She searched the features of the man she knew very well and knew that his face had sharpened in blatant want and hunger.

Her body shifted backward swiftly as Solona attempted to evade the swift arms of Cullen as he sought to grab her. She looked around wildly as she stumbled to her feet. "What are you doing?" Solona's voice warbled slightly betraying the mounting sense of trepidation that filled her behind the emotionless mask of her face.

Clouded eyes bored into hers and she watched with great attention to his body as it had coiled tight. Her time spent in silent observation of the Templar's of the Circle Tower allowed her to know that he was getting ready to attack and Solona tenaciously prepared for an assault from his energy. She shifted her weight and started to gather at the strains of her magic for protection. Therefore, she had been stunned momentarily when he had strung forward and jumped upon her, which had landed them both on the small patch of grass next to the bedroll with the wind knocked from her lungs.

He was not in his right frame of mind; this was the line she could not cross.

She felt his mouth seek hers again and her body complied with his unspoken request. Solona felt panic rise low within her belly. The young mage squirmed and pushed against the templar pinning her with his heavier body into the chilled ground. _Stop._ Her experience warned swiftly. _Do not react. Think first._ Her mind had shut down to all but the facts of her current predicament as she focused on her options. Solona knew that in his slightly frenzied state, that to outright provoke him by a physical attack could prove highly detrimental to her health. She understood that the more successful option was to follow his lead until such a time as his madness altered his consciousness once more. Yet, that seemed to risky by her standards and she worried that waiting could lead to a result neither of them would be able to live with.

"Let me." She heard him insinuate temptingly as his mouth left hers and the gap between them allowed room for conversation. She had chosen not to respond but to stare up at him in quiet dignity."Let me have you." She watched his lips form the words that caused desire to pool between her thighs. Solona knew she swallowed reflexively at the way the sheer longing of his gaze affected her and the want that grew robust within her. She yearned to agree, she had thought about it a hundred times or more. Part of her wanted to give into the enticement, had urged her to lose herself in the activity their position implied. She pondered timidly if it would be alright give him the permission he sought even if she could not live with herself after. _Would it truly be so wrong?_

"No." She uttered fiercely and her gaze drifted to the stars above that twinkled in perfect tranquility. Solona understood that if she did not look at him, she would have a greater resolve to deny them both.

"Why do you refuse me?" His tone dropped and the warning was clear within the question. The young mage repudiated to answer and had opted instead to constrain the advances by pacifism. She had even managed to remain impassive when his hips had ground into her causing a fissure of pleasure to trickle through her body. She turned her head away as he tried to claim her lips once more. "I want you Solona." He whispered huskily against her ear.

She had shivered at the emotional reaction the statement wrung from her, but controlled it promptly. "You are suffering from lyrium withdrawal." She explained patiently and her ordinary face was illuminated softly by the radiance of the night sky, which had cast upon her features an almost beautiful glamour. "I will not lay with you, whoever it is that you have become." Her magic serenaded them both in a song of the resilience of her tenacity. Their eyes locked and she knew he understood that she would not be swayed. Her heart thrummed with heavy finality behind her ribs so much that the pain she had felt bloom from her rejection of the only possible chance between them was tangible.

He was not in his right frame of mind; this was the line she could not cross even when the very parts of her that made her human begged her to.

OoOoOo

Cullen had found himself back in the infinite darkness of insanity. The voices had become quite and he worried for his captive. He caught snippets of lucidity and the remembrances of times he would otherwise be unable to recall. His despondency had grown in this realm where time had no place or meaning trapped beneath the weight of his own sick perversions.

The fires of anger toward the apostate had cooled marginally in the wake of their shared understanding. Cullen understood that he could not be deterred from his beliefs and even if he was weak due to the delirium; it would not change who he was. However, he also knew that he was no longer entirely convinced about his identity anymore. The truth and fabrications had now blended seamlessly before his mind's eye. He was tired and worn from the unending struggle against his own body. Cullen could not allow himself to question that which he knew to be infallible law or else all would be lost to the delusion blind hysteria would create. It would be all too easy; he comprehended vividly; to become a shadow of his former self lost to the faceless demons his psychosis produced.

He could feel the pull of the void of madness bear down on him in all directions. The buzzing of the malady had deafened his ears to all else but the raging insanity. The light glimmered like a beacon of salvation, incredibly small though it was, in the vast darkness. Cullen could still hear the lingering strains of magic forcefully whip across the mist and lure him out of the area he had confined himself to. He grasped onto the modicum of lucidity that the magic provided and slowly he waded through the blackness.

Cullen was best by the dawned knowledge that he could not remember what he had been thinking moment ago. He stared down at the placid face of a woman beneath him. He felt bud within him, the urge to protect her from what he could not recall. Confused, he considered who she was to him. Though his deliberation had come up short for a scant few breaths, he felt the revelation crash over him with exaction. Cullen recaptured flashes of time that explained her presence with such ease that he had found himself embarrassed that he had forgotten her in the first place.

He knew she had been provoking him somehow, but that was always the experience with her. The man had known her all of his life, little sisters where notorious for being the cause of anger and frustration. His mind had prodded lightly that why they were in this position was uncertain. He frowned down at his sibling what must have been childish behavior.

"You should make an effort to learn the basics of good manners." The tone of reserved chastising came freely to his words and he watched as his sister snapped her attention on his face. He could practically hear that clever mind of hers working away. It had never ceased to amaze him that such a bright young woman could be so emotionally deficient at times.

"Pardon me?" He had grunted with displeasure at the sound of her detached and impersonal politeness.

"Do my ears deceive me or was that a proper response? I suppose it is a start." Cullen endeavored to tease a more jovial reaction out of her. He hated it when she was so solitary with her graces.

Her eyes had hardened sharply at words and her very personality changed posthaste. "We have wasted enough time, wouldn't you agree?" He watched her blink up at him in a friendly manner and Cullen thought that expression on her features was misplaced somehow.

Cullen looked around and was struck by the absurdity of the hour. He could scarcely believe that it was eventide already and scrambled to his feet rapidly. "How could you let us delay so long?" He hissed out at his errant sibling for she had full well known that he was due to report to the Circle of Magi for his first assignment. _I need to get to the Circle and quickly._ The thought reverberated loudly thought his consciousness. "Don't just lay there, help me pack." He muttered a few choice expletives at her reluctance to move.

"As you wish." She blandly replied and he noticed that she steadily packed their meager belongings into their father's pack. Cullen knew he would have to lecture her later on the importance of being punctual, however, he would show some leniency for she was not privileged as he had been to be taught such valuable lessons by the Chantry. "Shall I lead the way?"

"If you must." He joked as he ruffled her already displaced hair. He saw her peek under her eyelashes as they ventured forward again under the cover of night. The moon acted the part of the guide to navigate the pair out of the vast network of trees. Cullen followed his sister to the road and though it chaffed his male pride that she always seemed to know where they were, he generously bore it for he was her brother. However, he had found it odd that she seemed so very distant toward him. In his recollection he did not remember any offence that deserved such a high level of disregard toward him.

Yet, something inside of him cautioned that this was not correct. Images flashed swiftly across his thoughts and He groaned against the painful throb that permeated his head and the distant whispers that echoed in his head. There was the crooning of magic on the shell of his ear and he watched from pained eyes the way brown hair swished back and forth with each step the person in front of him took.

Who was she and why was he following this woman?


	19. Chapter 19

**XD Thank you all for the reviews and it really meant a ton to me that you took a few moments to tell me your opinions or give praise.**

_**Now, I wanted to warn a few of the more 'gentle' hearts that steaminess will now be coming along with the added pressure of the situation; starting with the next chapter. I call this a fair warning.:D**_

**I own nothing, please enjoy!**

OoOoOo

Solona furrowed her brow in concentration as she ambled through the darkened forest with only the luminescent light of the heavens for guidance. Her thoughts tumbled and twisted into such as mass that she had found herself unable to form a comprehensive thought to satisfaction. She raked her hand through her hair to dispel some of the mounting frustration and foreboding that had increased with each step forward into the night. The young mage could try to explain the trembling that racked her body as being from the chill as it caressed her still dampened robe; however, she had always upheld with the strictest moral fiber, the concept of never lying to herself. Solona knew very well that she was shaken still due to his sensual kisses and flushed because of how wickedly close she had been to giving into temptation.

She knew life was never fair; but she had doltishly hoped that it would have been reasonable.

Her ire had risen with each step she had taken from the small pseudo-Eden she had discovered unforgivably there in her hunter's arms. Her pride had been stung upon the Templar's quick recovery from their concupiscent embrace. Yet, she knew better than to stir the dying embers of a flame lest it blare back into existence in full force. She damned herself doubly for the weight of corrupt joy that spread sinfully across her body. _What could have been I will never know._ An inkling of her baser self had mourned in a disconsolate manner when she had refused the morally reprehensible request; which, had it been proffered on the part of Cullen's true nature would have been readily welcomed. Solona had sought only the cold comfort that the knowledge of a truly honorable act could bring, though it was not exactly the healing balm her aching sentiment required.

Her gaze was directed toward the beginnings of the road that peeked coyly out from the towering trunks of trees whose branches had begun to lose the variegated foliage which spelled out the exhortatory notice of winter. _Winter will cause a problem._ Her mind cautioned gently; Which she knew could only add to her already complicated predicament. She understood that had she never stumbled across the templar; and had chosen instead to adhere to her escape plan which she had spent years analyzing for potential complications, none of which had included a blood mage encounter; she would have been in Gwaren and contentedly living out an ordinary existence. In truth, magic meant exceedingly little to the calculating mage. She was average in the art and had never sought to use her born mystical talent for power or social acceptance. The young mage felt no great loss at the prospect of being more or less stripped of her use of magic. _After all, is that sacrifice not the same as only being allowed to use my magic when the Chantry and Circle deem fit?_

Repugnance threatened to engulf her in the few spared contemplations of the Chantry and Circle on a united front. Solona was an ordinary human who was prone to feelings of anger and hurt the same as any other. The Circle was run by hypocritical equivocators whose sole purpose in this world was to further their own ties to the bigoted, and egotistical dictators of the Chantry. The Chantry needed mages, Solona knew that very well, and she reluctantly admitted that there was a legitimate need for templars to strike down abominations or those that had failed to keep their wits about them. However, she could not see the necessity in forcing a form of enslavement upon mystical bearers. The young mage could believe the sheer lunacy of being a lone mage and templar bound together through mutual determination for completely different agendas.

Briefly, she allowed herself to reflect on what could have been; had she been able to deny her faulty curiosity. Solona knew she would have had an easy time of integrating into the town by way of using her well-earned knowledge of manipulation. She would have located the nearest tavern and spent several hours if not days studying the local inhabitants to blend seamlessly into the background once again. Had it been required, she would have gladly played upon the sympathies of a few selected individuals in order to set down the connections she longed to create. She was wistful in the mental space of what could have been. However, she knew with absolute certainty, that being stuck in the past would do nothing for her current situation.

Solona knew that staying where there was more cover was a far superior way to hide, yet, she considered how walking through the night might expedite their travels. The risk, she weighed with judiciousness, would be the additional stress to his already incredibly unstable psyche. Furthermore, without knowing what damage had already been wreaked or what damage would be lasting, Solona was at a loss on how to walk along the razor thin edge of decision. Self-preservation and concern for her ward's well being raged strongly within the young mage. She knew that she could not, in good conscience, create more stress for the templar. Her thoughts became laden with options and paths not taken as she scrutinized all that she had gleamed about lyrium withdrawal.

She knew life was never fair; but she had doltishly hoped that it would have been reasonable.

She was confident that his madness would last long enough to see them to Lothering; if not there were a couple of stratigies that she was loathe to employ, but would guarantee her needs were met. She could tell as much of the stages of his withdrawal as before by how swiftly he had reverted to pain, rages, and changes in personality. The young mage understood that the song of her magic was still vital in pulling him back from the void of insanity. She knew that using a spell outright would only serve to feed his lyrium-starved senses and bring him back into true awareness; and by proxy land him neatly back at the beginning of this tedium. It was rather unfortunate, all things considered, that she had to keep him in the delirium. Solona knew keenly that he would impede her plans for departure if he were in control of his faculties. She had vowed to never return to the Tower and therefore she would not.

_This was exactly why plans should always be followed_. She knew she should not have stopped and it had cost her the lives of five men, her chance at settling down in Gwaren, and the price of her humanity had been her heart. A maturity gained from a lifetime of passive experience and only logical contemplation found her gladdened by the opportunity to truly care for someone; to feel as she never had before. Yet, that same maturity wept stricken tears of acceptance for all of the moments she could only dream of. There had been part of her, which murmured quietly that she would reflect on the stolen moments of passion with the templar as the best of her otherwise apathetic life. _If one excludes escaping from the control of the Chantry and living one's life on the run from their 'justice'. _She amended half-amused despite the severity of the implication.

Saving him was the worst choice she had made, she knew it, but she also conceded that it had been the best simultaneously. There were simply things she could never voice, but among them was the way in which the frustrating pious swordsman had enriched her human nature. He had unwittingly led her from the road of apathy and forced her into a role where someone mattered more than her own life. It had been a situation wholly new and confusing to her. The young mage pondered how one small decision to venture from the steadfastness of her plans could have so altered her course of action. Still, she lamented at her own lack of proper discipline where her plans were concerned but it would bring her nothing productive on this night and she resolutely pulled herself from the depths of self-pity.

"Pardon me?" Solona fought the urge to sigh heavily at the already bewildered tone of the man in question. _This night_, she bemoaned internally, _has not been kind._

"Yes?" The response was stoic and aptly depicted the way she felt toward the every changing faces of Cullen. Her continence would never hesitate in his presence. She was Solona Amell, and she was special in her own way; a way which made the ability to become forgettable an unparalleled asset.

"Um. Perhaps, this might sound odd; however, I don't seem to recall your name." She heard his voice crackle slightly at the admittance of his ignorance.

She narrowed her gaze upon the veritable maze of roots that had threatened to trip her feet at any moment. Though she was a woman given to a copious amount of patience, she was aware that it was running thin due to the calamity that appeared whenever her path was crossed with the templar's. Her footfalls abruptly stopped and she turned around to face him. She was grateful for the slight cover that had been provided by the dimness surrounding them. "My name is Solona." She blinked softly up at the templar, unable to keep some of the breathlessness out of her voice as unbidden she recalled the sweetness of his kisses. _Focus._ She berated herself swiftly.

"Ah. That is a nice name. My name is Cullen." He seemed awkward to her rather penetrating stare as she watched him flush slightly and felt the flux in his energy. She knew he was confused when he paused for a moment and then looked back toward her with a silent anxiety. "It is strange, I feel as if I have said that before." She watched him quirk his lips into a haphazard smile. His attempt to become amicable was not lost on her.

"Perhaps you have." Solona smiled back at him the very essence of congeniality, but inside she was a mass of ruthless determination and mild emotional upheaval. "Shall we continue?" The inquiry was polite and she cursed the unintentional cool reserve that laced the question, giving hint to her slight irritation at the interruption from her deeper contemplations. She gazed upon her hunter with mute fascination as her irritation slowly simmered to anger. Solona belatedly understood that she was upset with him. She was near furious that he had nearly taunted her with something she could never have. The young mage was irate with the unfairness of the memories that only she would hold in completeness. It wasn't in her nature to be lash out or to be anything other than detached. The constant drain on her magic to stave off the most violent complications of his delirium, the lack of fully adequate nutrition, and the emotional distress had pushed the limits of even the most patient of mages.

Her average hazel eyes narrowed slightly when he had failed to respond. "Well?"

Solona had seen the confusion alight in his amber orbs at her shortness with him. His feet shuffled quietly in the darkness and she had forced herself to take a deep breath to regain control over the situation. "Cullen?" Her body shifted slightly to show less of an aggressive stance toward him and her eyes widened to convey openness. She watched his eyes snap toward hers and his back straighten. She knew she had his attention. "It is very dark and we have a lot of ground to cover before we make it to Ostagar to rest." Her voice was sweet honey and kindness. Solona unabashedly recalled that the sweeter approaches worked effectively against his calmer demeanor.

"R-right." Solona could see the way in which the moonlight danced merrily across the glory of his hair when he nodded his agreement to her request. Solona smiled briefly in the darkness and though she was not certain if he had seen her, she continued forward once more. She knew they could not have gotten very far, mayhap a hundred feet or so when the templar had broken the sweet music of the tranquil night again. "Um, Miss Solona? Why _are_ we going to Ostagar?"

The young mage fought the mounting vexation that poured through her still firming resolve. Mage Amell knew the value of patience, but she had become Solona Amell an average woman joined within the social structure of the rest of Thedas. She had forgotten the seamless mask of withdrawnness that had always graced the pale features of Mage Amell. She knew life was never fair; but she had doltishly hoped that it would have been reasonable.

OoOoOo

Cullen could not understand why the woman, Solona she had said, seemed so very mercurial. _One moment she is colder than winter in Fereldan, and in the next breath she is sweetness and light!_ He muttered under his breath at the fickle nature of the fairer sex. He was bothered that he could not remember how it was that he came to follow this strange woman through the darkest forest he'd ever had the misfortune of finding. It seemed all rather idiosyncratic to him; that he would be wandering around in the blackness and dark with only the stars to guide the way along with the young woman in front of him.

He was certain he had lived this before.

A voice inside of him had hissed and moaned that he had been lost like this before' that voiced complained that this was not a new experience and he knew this 'Solona' rather intimately. Cullen had found those whispers in the murkiest parts of his mind very disconcerting. The suggestions had sounded as if they were far way, almost similar to someone shouting down the length of a long tunnel without clarity in the words or the inflection of their meanings. _It feels right, but it does not make a whit of sense._ He had pondered that feeling until the woman had all but faded from sight and he stumbled to reach her. Cullen could not explain why he felt as if he knew the woman he had only just met, but he understood panic when it bloomed to life in his chest as it had done at the thought of her being out of his field of vision.

The fog that weighed all of his thoughts had swelled thicker at the loss of her presence next to him. Cullen felt the shift of his bearings as something pushed him deep into that obstruction. Down, falling, and he was fading…fading…

_Where am I?_ The question lingered at the forefront of his mind and he stopped himself abruptly. The young templar viewed his surroundings with dismay and an ounce of distrust. He had just been at the Circle tower for his first Harrowing. The mage, much to his displeasure, had passed well enough, if his memory served him. His hand had reflexively reached for the haft of his sword only to find nothing there. The event was considered more alarming and peculiar to the young templar by the absence of his armor. _Why am I clothed in garments that are not my own?_

He was certain he had lived this before.

His senses exploded in warning and carefully restrained panic. _Is this some mage's trickery? Has the tower been besieged by demons?_ Templar Cullen felt his world narrow to a terrifying prospect of the death of his comrades and those he had sworn to protect with his very life. His energy flared with bravery born from overcoming fear and he had been forced to close his eyes to seek out any traces of magic that might show sign of how he had come to reside in this forest. Cullen felt his templar talents roar to life as he searched the area in the closest proximity to him; the energy wove around and past the trees, rock, shrubs, and animals.

The sharp snap of a twig as it split in twain, alerted the Templar to the muted song of a 'cursed'. His eyes shot open and he stared at the shadowed figure approaching him with a slightly quickened pace. Templar instinct shuttered to life with the vicious danger of a lurking serpent and he readied himself for any form of magical attack.

"Cullen?" He had to stop himself from lurching at his name being called from the inky depths of the forest as the shadowed figure grew steadily closer. "Cullen, are you alright?" The young templar could hear the undertone of worry in a decidedly female voice and he glared fiercely at the approaching magic born.

"I felt magic. Who are you?" Cullen vehemently demanded, refusing to play any part in what was most likely a demon's trickery.

He watched a rather unremarkable woman halt in her steps and her hazel eyes swept over him, taking in his tensed muscles. "I'm Solona." She responded flatly and all the concern he was certain had filled her voice before was gone.

Recognition burned through his thoughts and memories that did not seem real rushed through the mind of the newly sanctioned Templar. "Amell?" Something inside of him prompted too swiftly to stop as it escaped from his mouth.

He was certain he had lived this before.

He watched the surprise flit across her features before it was tampered down and the cool aloofness returned. The young templar was unsettled by the woman's lack of readable expression. "Yes."

"You." He stated through clenched teeth at the uncanny feeling he had partaken of this exact conversation with her before. The burdening sense of recitation flittered through his thoughts. "Are a mage outside of the tower without permission and therefore an apostate." _I have seen that look on her face before. I have seen her._ To the templar that led to only one conclusion; He had been hunting her; he conceded swiftly. That explained easily why he was outside of the tower himself and the absurdity of him being in a forest. _It does not explain why I am without my armor and weapon_. He reflected snidely. The young templar found himself convinced that this was a trap designed by some demon.

He watched a corner of her lips twitch before it was stilled and a blank mask stared back at him. "So it would seem." She had responded and Cullen narrowed his eyes at the implication the 'mage' had provided. It was a singular truth of the Fade that perceptions were a measure beyond deadly. The young templar stood his ground and warily gazed at the 'woman' before him. "Apostate Amell, I hereby apprehend you in the name of the Chantry and by order the Grand Cleric you will stand trial for your frivolous disregard of laws of Fereldan under-" The young templar had begun sternly.

"Article 18, clause 4; 'Wherein all those born as a mage shall reside in the Circle of Magi at the discretion of the Chantry until such time that they are released from their mortal coil.'" Cullen noted that the mage's head had tilted slightly and her eyes had been lifeless as she recited with ease the very mandate that he had been prepared to state. The templar felt unease interweave within him at the flat tone in her voice that gave hint of boredom. Her gaze snapped up to his with a quiet fierceness that had him enraptured at the mystical glow in her eyes. "Very Well Templar, I am under your authority, however, that does not change the fact that we need to find our way to civilization and we will not accomplish that by standing around reciting Chantry law."

_Never trust a mage._ His training reminded him astutely. How many times he had been told this infallible rule he could not count; he understood only that it must be adhered to at all times. Upon further reflection, however, he knew that there was a smidgen of wisdom to her acerbic words. Cullen knew that he did need to gain contact with a Chantry or a town to ensure the apostate would not escape. The young templar felt his determination to see this perplexing mage back inside the fortified wall of the Tower. He would never admit that he was not certain of their location. Weakness in front of an apostate only spelled out a hideous sort of demise.

He was certain he had lived this before.

OoOoOo

Her nights and days had become blurred from her lost contact with the fade. Solona had grown weary ago and now she walked a thin line between exhaustion and collapse. She understood that Cullen was not in a condition conducive to vigilant night watches and so she had pushed them from dawn till dusk with only an hour or two of sleep for herself before they would trudge on again wearily. The young mage had spent a large portion of her magic and pertinence on coaxing the templar to follow her despite countless delusions that warned him to fight or leave her. There had been times where she had foolishly hoped that he was somehow attempting to delay their arrival to Lothering in a piteous bid to keep her from disappearing from his life. However, logic and experience overrode such childish notions. Solona knew she was not among the exquisite beauties of the tower that had unusual hair or eyes that enraptured the hearts of men near and far.

It would be easy, too easy, to lose herself in one of his lyrium-deprived delusions of what their relationship with one another actually was.

Cullen, she appraised silently, had never uttered a word of complaint or censure for their nearly debilitating pace back to the clutches of society. She was filled with unfathomable sadness at the prospect of bidding him farewell. In the short amount of time she had been graced with his presence; he had become more to her than she could ever truly know. Solona was aware that she would feel the depth of his loss only after she had long since left his side. She had vowed to see him safely back to the poisonous bosom of his precious Chantry which prided itself on its nihilism toward the liberty of mages.

Her nights had been filled with his gentle caresses when he had believed, while trapped in the grip of the madness, that they were lovers or on occasion even more. Those delusions left her feeling so filled with regret over all that, much to her precipitousness, she wanted to be to him. She had been struck by the jarring miscalculation that there was a large part of her which wished to keep the templar. Yet, she understood that to even harbor such thoughts was madness unto itself and she calmly pushed the feelings down to be dealt with at a later time. Solona had tried in vain to deny the waves of lust and longing that rolled off of her whenever his eyes became more golden than amber as he had gazed at her with such clear want radiating through his energy and features.

invidious days followed the sweet sentiments of the night. The templar became more volatile during the waking hours and Solona struggled mightily to keep up with his fluctuating psyche. She had often been successful in gauging who he believed himself to be; however, there had been more than a time or two that she was caught unaware by either his desire or his anger. She was caught by the absurdity of how his feelings only ever seemed to revolve around wanting to claim her and wanting to resent her. Solona had been gifted by the bizarre side-effect that the restarting of his lyrium-withdrawals had actually allowed the templar to repeat previous encounters nearly word for word with little variation.

It was a strange occurrence that Solona would have adored to research in depth but such a diversion was not available to her. She could feel each and every night that her phylactery was coming closer to her current position. She could hear the faint hum of her song in the few short moments that she had been given to embrace the fade once more. Each trip into the twisting and shifting realm had alerted her to the encroaching pull of her own magic against her. Solona knew time was running out and it added a sense of desperate urgency to her attachment with Cullen.

"How much longer until we reach Ostagar?" His voice was enervated and Solona found herself agreeing with the moot feeling. If she recalled correctly, he would still believe he was a farmer for at least another few minutes. Her reprieves had been only in the moments she had between his mental lapses.

"I do not believe it will be more than another few hours at the most." She offered a bland but warm smile at her ward. Her calculating eyes scanned the area behind him finding it void of any threats or sustenance. Their food supply had nearly dwindled to nothing and she had sought her hardest to at least see him adequately fed. The coins hidden in the hem of her robe gave a solid reassurance that when they reached the fortress of Ostagar, she would laden her sack with foodstuffs and other necessities for her final stretch of the journey to leave the pious swordsman at Lothering.

"Ah. That is good news." She watched his bright smile with slightly hooded eyes. "I must say that this area is nothing like Jader." He had subtlety tried to cajole her into another conversation and Solona endeavored to keep her irritability in check.

"Oh?" She asked not truly trying to sound interested, but instead had settled for the practiced pleasantries she knew she should extend. "What is Jader like?"

She could see the small blush that had warmed his cheeks at her question. She had too many years spent watching the expressions and lives of others not to notice the shy way in which his head dipped slightly when he replied. "I think you would like it. The trees are filled with a bright array of colors and the orchards give off the sweetest perfume of apple flesh." He had chanced a look at her face and she knew he would find it shaped with curiosity in lieu of passiveness. "The people are warm and caring. The nights in Jader are filled with soft music and lively laughter."

"It sounds lovely." Solona could not stop the dreamy smile that played coyly with her lips. Her younger self had always longed for such a place. _Perhaps Jader should be my new destination?_ The small question filled her with a sense of peace. If she could not have the man she cared for; why could she not have the home he had once called his own?

"Maybe you could come visit it sometime?" Her heart thundered painfully behind the closed walls of her ribs at his earnest expression of hope. "I would be very glad to show you all the sights."

The young mage worked her throat for a few moments to loosen the tight muscles that had constricted at the burning sentiment there in his amber orbs. "I would like that never much."

She saw the confusion flit across his face and she mentally sighed at the tale-tell signs of his mind shifting once more.

"Mage Amell?" His voice was haggard and worn.

"Always." She inclined her head at this serendipitous meeting with his true self for the first time this day. The sun was high in the noon sky and she had been concerned that he had not pulled himself back from the darkness of his insanity before now.

He seemed to gaze about their surroundings with a conquering military air that she had found comfort in. _He is consistent;_ she had thought wryly; _I will give him that._ "How far have we traveled since we spoke last?" He asked as he arched a tawny brow.

Solona had long ago concluded that he was not wholly aware of all that went on while he was locked within the bounds of his own mind. "I estimate twenty miles." Her voice reserved as she kept her guard high when his true self emerged so that the heavy feelings of guilt and sorrow would not threaten to engulf her otherwise rational mind.

His eyes had shifted toward hers and she held the gaze unwilling to back down once more and fall victim to her own irresolution. "Then it will not be much farther to Ostagar." He rumbled more to himself than her and Solona narrowed her eyes briefly at what he might be attempting to plan.

She molded her face into a mask of dispassion and her eyes sharpened on the details that surrounded his demeanor. It would hinder the advances she had gained in leading him if he rebelled against her during his prolonged moments of lucidity. "Indeed." She uttered quietly and started forward once more. She had become weary of the Imperial Highway and would be grateful for the sight of Ostagar to encompass her tired eyes.

They walked in companionable silence for several moments before she felt the air around them change suddenly. Solona glanced back to see his face was flushed. The memory of what had happened the last time he had been taken over by a strong emotion cauterized any thoughts of letting the templar carry on until the next persona came to being. "Cullen?" She ventured half-timid at the possibilities of what his energy could wreak.

"Solona." He curtly acknowledged and she could feel his energy wrap around her magic holding the song captive for the length of one breath; she shuddered at the contact of his ability and hers. "My Solona."

She sucked in a deep breath despite the practice she had garnered from blending into the background. The young mage had taken an involuntary step backward as the templar stalked forward like a hungry wolf eyeing a succulent piece of meat. Her magic had twittered in strange excitement at the predatory look in his gaze directed at her and embarrassment nipped hot on the heels of that feeling when a smug smirk had clung to his lips; then she had known that he could hear the song and understand the emotion behind it.

"You know not what you do." Solona attempted to reason as she looked about the abandoned stretch of road they occupied.

"I know exactly what I do, dear mage." His voice crooned huskily at her and Solona was reluctant to meet his eyes. She felt his arm wrap around her waist tightly and she did not feel the urge to flee, but fought the want to lean into his embrace.

She closed her eyes and threw her carefully built emotional walls down once more to the pure hunger in his kiss. She was slowly becoming desensitized to the rush of shame and contrition that followed in the wake of giving in to him. She knew his other arm was assiduous in pinning her other arm behind her back to lock against his other forearm.

Her free hand had come to fist in his hair as she let out a unscrupulous moan against the hot cavern of his mouth. She would have begged for more, pleaded with him to continue, and willfully surrendered to him from the lack of sleep and proper sustenance; had the rustling of a nearby bush not startled her from the dangerous thoughts.

Solona ripped her mouth from his and watched the darkened feathers of a sparrow as it flew overhead; she followed the avian until it led her gaze to a sight she had feared she would never see. She had nearly wept with relief as the peaks of Ostagar's fortress protruded proudly against the blazing sky giving testament to her will and his determination. She could not stop the small prayer that escaped her iron-clad thoughts that asked for the Maker to have pity on them both, regardless of whether his gaze rested on Thedas or not.


	20. Chapter 20

**Thank you all my dear reviewers! I really find inspiration in your reviews even if it is just to say 'Good job.' I truly appreciate them. For those of you that are unable to review, I appreciate your reading this. Thank you to those that have favored my story or asked to be alerted.**

_**It seems that a few of my lovely reviewers have more or less figured out a part of the encounter in Ostagar, but it is not going to go the way you might think. Also, I had a private message which asked me what kind of weather they are in. Well, to put it bluntly I have hinted a lot to encroaching winter…so think autumn; where there are warm and chilly days depending on the weather. No they are not freezing, but it is a far cry from being torrid either. Hopefully, that clears up the question. Furthermore, you may remember that they picked up some spare garments from the bandits they met upon the road so they have some extra layers when need be.**_

**I own nothing. Please enjoy this latest installment.**

OoOoOo

Exhaustion acted like a beast that clawed feverishly at her legs and mind. Solona had been forced to abandon the more beguiling mannerisms she had assimilated for her dealings with the deranged templar. Her hair had felt sticky upon the back of her neck when she grasped the battle-worn hand of her former hunter to drag him; whether willing or not matter with little consequence, with the last reserves of her strength to the Fortress that glistened softly in the light of the brisk day which had threatened to congeal the very blood in her veins not hours prior. Her thoughts had drifted momentarily to the exquisite heat that his embraces had provided her before she had callously squashed the willful musing.

Solona could sense the pull of his energy on her magic as she suspected he was attempting to understand the new found urgency in her behavior. Her indistinct hazel eyes glanced back at him for a heartbeat to determine that he was still following her unspoken command that he quicken his pace; without startling the hunter into a new delusion. The young mage had been pleased with the image that greeted her. His eyes, she shrewdly discerned, were not of his true self but they did not tell of aggression or fear. Solona understood, though upon first reflection it had been bewildering, that despite what the templar's core persona might believe; the other aspects of him seemed to trust her implicitly. _With a few exceptions_. She had cogitated lightly.

She knew she had to push onward just a little more.

The young mage ventured to forget about the way her feet ached and how her back had screamed in shrill protest to the mistreatment she had forced her body to suffer. Where her mortal self wilted mightily under the strain of all that she had endured, her magic was abound in hope and conviction. Though her magic was on the verge of being nearly drained to completion by the hunger energy of the pious swordsman, she reveled in the music of her own invigorating song; to keep his mind from unraveling upon itself she had gladly provided him with enough of her enchantment to see his pain ebbed and some of his lucidity returned but those last reserves of her magic were falling fast.

There were moments suspended in drudgery and uncertainty that the mage had been helplessly relieved to be denied the reestablishment of her connection to the fade. Solona knew and understood the dangers of uncertainty in the realm of the shifting skies. Mages were adequately described by the Chantry as a beacon for demons. She was loathe to admit such an atrocious bigotry, but there was a smattering of truth to their otherwise poisonous and narrow-minded views. If the embers of her misgivings gave way into a blaze of fear or anger she would have been an insultingly easy quarry for any demon that caught the first notes of her sorcery as she entered the realm. Part of her was confident that the Chantry-trained companion would have been able to strike down an abomination should she have become one. The other part of her, the side of her psyche that was truly a Circle mage, shuddered in revulsion at the very notion of falling victim to the dark clutches of any demon.

Solona wondered if it had been self-preservation that drove her forward when all else around her seemed to collapse about her shoulders. She had lost so very much, given up far more than any her age should dare be asked to give, and yet, to the corrupt ranks of the Chantry; it was never enough. It would never be enough for them to take away just her freedom. Solona despised the Chantry and the Tower for what they believed to be their Maker-given right to take her youth, her life, and the prospect of a family from her. She could not stop the flashes of memory that invoked a powerful sadness within her, as she forcibly led the templar closer still for Ostagar.

Cullen in her opinion was so similar to nearly all templar's in her acquaintance, but his strong will and stubbornness called out to more forgotten emotions that Solona had only just begun to rename. Her past was like any other that came to the Tower, simply unremarkable. She could not remember the sound of her mother's voice, but there were times when she had been alone in the Tower she thought that if she could concentrate enough, she would have been able to remember her mother's face. Solona knew that she had a father; every person ever conceived on the whole of Thedas had one. She could not recall his face or voice, but she clearly remembered that he had smelt of pine and sandalwood. Her eyes, she knew came from her father but other than that firm belief she had naught to remember them by. She understood that they were lost to her and would remain so because they were nothing more than strangers that had created and bore her. They young mage had learned very early into her incarceration behind the thick stone walls of the tower, that to hope to see them again was folly and it was in her best interest to sweep the broken pieces of her heart up to move on.

She knew she had to push onward just a little more.

She had done it before and she would do it again. Her heart, she knew instinctively, would shatter once more from its tenderly re-forged state and she would pick up the broken pieces completely alone as she had before. _What else can I do?_ Her mind question hesitantly for she knew the answer already. There would be nothing else to be done, could be nothing else. Solona had thrown caution to the wind and it could very likely cost her the life she so cunningly had planned for. Her only options now lay in controlling his delusions long enough to pass through Ostagar without being noticed over much.

However, that was a great plan in theory but Solona knew the execution of said plan might be harder than she would want. The young mage knew that the templar was in an extremely fragile state and that meant leaving him alone even just outside of the fortress was an impossibility. She feared that he might get himself injured or worse if he were left to his own devices. Yet, as she came within shouting distance of the main gate, she was forced to pause due to her lack of a plausible tale as to their relationship or his illness. She understood that there would not be too much questioning while they attempted to gain access into the campgrounds, those were available to tradesmen and travelers alike, but she could not wrack her exhausted mind to satisfaction to produce a viable reason for why he would no doubt suddenly change personas.

Solona could only rely on the emotional power that sympathy was able to sow within people. Her head puzzled over this latest predicament to rest upon the inkling that soldiers' would be far more inclined to accept a man that might have been damaged in the line of duty. She calculatingly reasoned that if she were to pick a place that was remote enough from their present location; she might be able to pass the templar off as a mentally mangled former guardsman of some wealthy nobleman. _Perhaps a solider to the Bann of Hafter River? Or to the Arl of Amaranthine, which is larger, would be less memorable?_ She had turned to survey the appearance of her companion with a critical eye. She conceded that he was in excellent physical condition, if not a touch thinner due to their lack of proper nutrition, and she could see the potential in mistaking him for a hired sword. _Hafter River is not as far from here, however, it does not attract the sort of attention that Amaranthine does._ A debate weighing the advantages and disadvantages of each location warred quickly inside of Solona as she had been entrusted once more with their lives.

She knew she had to push onward just a little more.

OoOoOo

He was not certain why the mage had grabbed his hand, but he had flushed at the impropriety of it. The Chantry had very strict principles on the behavior toward the magic born. Therefore, he had known full well that holding hand with a mage went against the dictum, but the way her hand had warmed his in spite of the brisk day had kept him from reprimanding her. However, it had not stopped the sudden warmth brought about by her skin contact from diffusing across his features. _Solona_. Some part of his overtired mind prompted weakly and Cullen had allowed himself to think of her as more than just another mage for a few moments as he had gazed at the swishing of her hair with every step she had taken.

He had been surprised when the Grand Cleric had assigned them to Ostagar.

Templar Cullen had been trained to be wary of any number of hazards that a mage could present and also the dangers posed to mages. He knew that there would be several lonely men or over eager soldiers to see someone with Solona's soft face and figure. He also understood that it was his solemn duty to guard her against unwanted affections or any undo roughness to her person. _She is my mage after all and I have to protect her. _The templar did not think it so terribly strange to think of the mage as his, she was assigned under his protection by the Chantry and he had always taken his obligations with utmost seriousness. He was a templar and with that came specific obligations. However, when he had noticed the way her eyes seemed to glow so alluringly with the song of her sorcery, he had not minded in the slightest what he perceived to be additional labor on his part.

He understood that the tower was in need of strengthening its ties to the Grey Warden order. _That does not make sense._ A small whisper floated around his thoughts like a fog on the dense cold water of Lake Calenhad. Yet, why it had bothered him, Cullen could not say. However, he understood and took great pride in being a sword for the Chantry's use. Moreover, he knew that he had an avaricious feeling toward being a shield for Solona. It was perverse in nature, his ignoble thrill at the mage needing his assistance or his guardianship. He would never say it aloud, but being with the rather reticent woman, made his energy whirl with the undeniable truth, that he only admitted to himself in the privacy of his own quarters, that he was smitten with her.

That singular fact had been the bane of his short time stationed within the confines of the Circle Tower. He knew that he had watched her with far more interest than was needed. Templar Cullen understood that the Mage Amell was the most confounding female he had ever met. Yet, it was that same formal manner in which she treated everyone that had caused the moments when she was not wholly cordial to shine through. It was the times when he had come upon her reading with the moonlight slicing across her hair as it lay across her shoulders that he coveted secretly. _There is just something so very…bewitching about her._ To others, Cullen had been amused by the assessment, she was plain and ordinary, but to him she was special.

"We are travelers. We have come only for a brief rest and to buy supplies."He had been pulled from his more admiring thoughts by the sound of his ward's voice. He narrowed his gaze at the guard speaking with Solona, and wondered mildly how he had not heard the man speak prior to her response. He was also confused as to why the mage thought to lie about their true reason for coming to Ostagar. He had decided to let her save face and remained quiet. Templar Cullen was beset by the tiny tremors along his hands and he decided that it must be from trepidation at the large looming fortress before them. He pulled his charge closer to his more solid frame and settled his turbulent mental state to focus on the task at hand. He was here on official Chantry and Circle of Magi relations and therefore had to make sure that his charge and he made a tactful impression.

"Alright. Welcome to Ostagar." Cullen had assessed the man in front of him to be in his mid thirties with unkempt black hair, and a far cry from any threat to his charge. He straightened under the weight of the soldier's gaze and glanced to find Solona still holding his hand, he surmised it was for moral support more than else. He knew that he was a Templar with nearly peerless abilities and courage when faced with an unknown adversary.

However that did not mean that he had not been surprised when the Grand Cleric had assigned them to Ostagar.

OoOoOo

Solona was not a woman inclined to fret over possibilities that seemed avoidable. She was not a woman who panicked often for she had always been studious in being cautious. Therefore she had held little fear or concern after walking inside the massive stone walls of the fortress to seek out provisions for the last week of her journey to Lothering. The young mage had kept a firm grip on the templar, who seemed not to notice or mind the contact, as to remove the risk of them being separated. She had pondered, for a very brief second, about leaving Cullen in the care of the Grey Wardens. She had heard before her departure from the Circle Tower, the Wardens would be moving to make-shift base in Dragon's Peak while the Monarchy of Fereldan was still debating over how much freedom to relinquish back to the previously banned order. Yet, it grated against the very foundation of her being to abandon him earlier than planned. It would have made far greater sense to leave him here, but she knew that they could do nothing to ease his pain until someone figured out his predicament. She was unsettled by the image of leaving her companion alone and wandering to suffer in a sea of foreign faces.

She could not plan for every eventuality, but she was determined to come close.

Thoroughly, exhausted and at the very edges of reasoning, Solona had continued to feed the song of her magic to the lyrium-deprived senses of the Templar. She had been caught unawares by the increasing amount of magic that it had taken to satisfy his physical dependency. At first she had thought it a side effect of restarting his withdrawals, but now she was concerned that he might be replacing his addiction to the draught he was never meant to imbibe in the first place, with the pull of her magic. It was a frightening conclusion to draw, but Solona knew she must explore all the possibilities.

She paused long enough to gather her wits about her and proceed toward the merchant section, which she had deduced by carefully watching the people that milled about and listening for the calls of someone peddling wares. Her cool detachment returned with full force as the walls she had erected around her innermost thoughts and feelings was brought back by the familiarity of her surroundings. Solona was back within her strength, she could become invisible once more. It was slightly harder than her previous times in Fereldan society as she moved unassumingly along the campsite with her hunter in tow. However, her bland features kept the bulk of attention away from them. She could not have said the same of Cullen, who was staring at every sight they passed as if he had never seen it before. Solona mused quietly to herself about what strange form of reality his mind had concocted this time. It was a large strain to try and feed her magic to him without exposing her song to any curious passersby.

Her eyes had scanned the large crowd of Grey wardens and what she knew to be campsite whores. She had been sheltered for the majority of her life in several aspects either by choice or circumstance, but she was not so naive that she could not distinguish a strumpet from a more reputable woman. She observed the antics of the men and women as they exchanged lurid promises and their bodies spoke of base lust that needed to be slaked. _And they think that mages are without scruples._ She snorted lightly in disgust at a pair that appeared to be satisfying their carnal urges behind a wagon that contained hay for the mounts of the Grey Wardens.

"Why hello there darlin'." She winced at the stench of an unknown male's rotten teeth as he blasted his greeting rather close to her face. The young mage understood instantly that this man had slipped into his cups and would not resurface for a very long time. She was struck at the absurdity of the hour, when the sun was still high in it's travels across the crystalline blue sky, for the man to be inebriated.

Though distain and revulsion coiled tightly in her stomach, Solona only allowed the dispassionate mask to show upon her features. She was aware that the Templar had stiffened in her grasp as the man took her silence for consent to proceed with what she had not doubted would be a vulgar offer.

"How's about you and me go find us a place to 'et… acquainted like.'" She understood that causing a scene would only result in their faces being remembered and that was a circumstance she had taken great pains to avoid. Still the prickling of outrage raced through her veins at his nauseating request had dropped like a lead weight to the pit of her stomach.

"No thank you." She responded disinterestedly.

"Oh come on now, a tasty bit like you needs a man." The repugnant male jeered and Solona fought the growing wave of anxiety that threatened to engulf her.

"How dare you." She stilled at the rapacious tenor that range out from the Templar behind her. The bones in her hand crunched in testament to his strength as he had curled his own appendages on reflex. Solona weighed her options carefully; she would allow the templar to verbally berate the drunken sot in front of them but she would have to ensure that this altercation would not come to blows. "You will never speak to my wife in that disrespectful manner again you churl." Solona felt herself stumble backward as the Templar placed himself between her and the inebriated male. She could feel the near murderous aura emanating from his rigid frame.

"Wife?" The boorish man blinked once slowly and then he had blinked twice but statement still had taken a moment to penetrate his intoxicated brain. "She's your wife?" The man nearly shouted and Solona chanced a few quick glances to see that they had gathered the attention of a few people.

"Yes. She's my wife." She watched the templar's body for signs of an impending attack but she had found none. Her mind raced with the implications of his statement. The young mage knew she would have to forgo an evening's rest in the campgrounds for fear that if Cullen reverted to where he thought she was anything other than his wife, her carefully spun inconspicuousness would be destroyed.

"What is going on here?" A smooth and commanding voice captured Solona's attention and she had turned her ordinary hazel eyes to find a person she had certainly never expected to encounter again.

"Are you in charge of this…oaf?" She heard Cullen all but hiss at the newcomer, and she pressed herself tighter to his back. She knew people would assume that she was seeking protection from her 'husband' but also so that she could expel more of her magic into his occupied mind without anyone else noticing.

"Indeed, I am. Is there a matter to which I need to be made aware of?" Solona's skin had prickled in the undercurrent of warning present in the man's voice. His face was impassive, but Solona knew far more about being detached than this man could ever hope to achieve. She could tell that he was angry by the way his lips pulled and she knew it was at the intoxicated man for the two quick glances the commanding man had given.

"This…man has insulted my wife." Solona inwardly cringed as the same dark eyes she had seen in Kinloch Hold stared at her and she knew the exact moment when recognition sparked within his dark depths. She understood that this new man posed a serious threat to her identity.

"On behalf of the Grey Wardens" The man continued on congenially and she felt herself grow increasingly alarmed as she fought the growing urge to panic behind the flawless mask of outrage she outwardly portrayed. "You have my sincerest apologies. I will see that the man is punished for his abysmal behavior. My name is Duncan, Warden Commander of Fereldan, and you are?"

Solona knew that Duncan was actually asking her and not Cullen by the way the Warden Commander's eyes had locked with hers and she morphed her face to reflect relief with a touch of awe. _Careful with this one, Careful._ A Grey Warden Commander should never be considered anything less than a force to be reckoned with. She had spent many a year tucked behind the foreboding walls of the Circle and she had been given many nights to study the ways of the worked outside the unchanging walls. The young mage knew very well what it entailed to be a Commander of anything, much less the prestigious order of the Grey Wardens. _Darkspawn are not beings to be trifled with and these are their slayers._

"Travelers. We are simply looking for a place to sleep and some supplies." Solona tilted her head to appear cheery and relieved. She let the false smile bloom full and convincing on her lips. She watched the Grey Warden scrutinize her reply, but it had been wholly truth and therefore she felt little concern that he would pick up on her worries.

"Then may I bid you welcome to Ostagar." He inclined his head and the young mage did the same, followed closely by the templar. "Forgive me Ma'am, but Haven't I met you before?" His dark eyes had narrowed on her and Solona felt the rising waves of panic crash over her again.

Her tone was cool but sweet and her coy grin suggested confusion. "No, I do not believe we have ever met before." Her neck was slightly stiff as she looked up at the face of her 'husband, her eyes widened in coerced innocence as she spoke sweetly to the templar. "Do you remember him, my dear?"

The young mage watched Cullen furrow his brow in concentration but she knew he what his answer would be before he stated it. "Not that I recall." Her hand rested upon his forearm as she willed her magic to hold the delusional man in whatever waking dream he had convinced himself this was.

"Where are you from?" Solona fractionally lowered her eyelids and cursed inside her head at the persistence of the man called Duncan. She knew that being so cocky in Kinlock Hold might have garnered her attention, but it had been necessary to her plans and therefore she had felt comfortable smiling at the man whose purse she had saved. _This is what you get for being human._ Her rational self berated her for yet another act of compassion that had only served to haunt her in return.

"Jader." Her reply was filled with a contented tone she certainly did not feel. She vowed that should they escape the Commander's too intelligent eyes, she would see to it that they never crossed paths again.

Surprise flit across the features of Duncan and Solona felt herself twine in knots trying to keep a façade composed enough that the leader of the Grey would not see through it. "Truly? I have a fellow Warden back in Orlasis who was born in Jader." She noticed the smile he had was genuine, but the calculating gleam in his eyes told her he was suspicious of them. Solona cursed at the gleam for she knew that it would take all of her concentration to disarm the man from his distrust and that would mean silencing the song of her magic from Cullen. "You know, he told me once what it was like, but I seem to have forgotten. Perhaps you could indulge me? What is Jader like this time of year?" She noticed that the commander's lips were thinned into a nearly vulpine smile. She recognized the unvoiced warning that if her reply was not satisfactory, at the very least, she would not be allowed to leave.

Her heart had hammered in her ears and she could feel the pulse in her gums as they throbbed around her teeth. She dampened her magic down even more and smiled up at the pious swordsman as she allowed her voice to take on a wistful quality. "I think you would like it. The trees are filled with a bright array of colors and the orchards give off the sweetest perfume of apple flesh." She recited what Cullen had told her but scat few hours before she had crossed the threshold into Ostagar. "The people are warm and caring. The nights in Jader are filled with soft music and lively laughter."

Solona looked back at Duncan and found him still smiling but the edge was gone from his eyes; yet, confusion had taken its place along with uncertainty. She held a breath as she awaited the result of her repeated sentiments. "You are correct. I think I would like such a place very much. Forgive me, I have detained you long enough. You said you were here for rest, is that right?" His voice had gone back to being neutral with a slight touch of forced civility thrown in, and the young mage felt the hair on the back of her neck slowly descend back to its lax position.

"Yes, that is right." She could feel the rumbled from Cullen's chest as he answered the question for her. Solona had become silent in wake of the vast relief coursing through her system.

"Then allow me to extend a hand of hospitality to make up for the slight your lovely wife has suffered. Come, I shall get you a sleeping place for the night, without charge of course." Solona warily walked behind the templar once more as he and the Warden Commander chatted aimlessly about things she did not have a care for hearing. Her mind was too taxed to focus on more than one task at a time. She had chosen instead to plan an escape route out of Ostagar if the need arose. Her calculating gaze took in every merchant, solider, obstacle, and animal that it fell upon and committed to memory the few egresses she spotted. The most readily available passage out back the Kocari Wilds and Solona was highly hesitant to venture too far into the uncharted territory.

She could not plan for every eventuality, but she was determined to come close.

OoOoOo

Cullen could not understand why his wife of three years had become so unbelievably quiet. He could understand if she was still frightened after that churl had propositioned her like some common whore. It had made his blood boil with ill-suppressed rage that she had been slighted so. To him, it did not matter if the man was in his cups; his wife was an honorable woman and deserved to be treated with respect. Had the Grey Warden Commander not interfered, Cullen would have happily trounced the sod to defend Solona's honor.

It was his right as her husband.

He had little ability to suffer fools gladly and nearly no patience when anything threatened his wife's happiness. This should have been a fun experience for them both. They had just gotten out of Jader for a few months' time to visit Solona's sister in Gwaren for her marriage to a rather nice fellow, whose name Cullen could not even remember. A small shifting in the darkness of his mind burned brightly at the thought of Solona's smile as she had spoken of Jader. _You remember those words, do you not? _A coaxing voice asked silkily from the mist that was ever-present in his thoughts.

The man could not shake the feeling that he had heard those exact words before, but they had been married for three years now and therefore it was fathomable that she had stated them more than once. The journey had been hard upon both of them and he would be glad to be back in their home and his own bed once more. Cullen had silently thanked the Maker that Solona only had the one sibling, for he was not certain he would be willing to venture this far from their farm again. He was very grateful to his father for agreeing to take up the mantle of responsibility for the short time he would be gone. _For her smile though, it was worth it._

Cullen surveyed the tent the Grey Warden had procured for their use and eyed it critically. He knew that the tent would hold well and there was little threat of rain. He felt a rather self-satisfied smirk play with his mouth as he thought of the numerous ways he could keep warm if the weather decided to turn for the worse. His amber orbs sought out the gaze of plain hazel and he gestured for her to go inside. The relief on her face was easy for him to spot. She was so full of bluster sometimes, he knew that as well. Cullen had always considered the day he first met her to be his saving grace. For he understood that not all young couples fell in love when one of them was gored by a wild pig; his mind swirled in amusement to recall that he had enjoyed the taste of that pig but not Solona's sewing skills that day.

It was his right as her husband.

Logically, he knew that his wife would want to freshen up before they retired for the night, yet, there was a rather primal urge in him to lay claim to her again before they ventured back into the world outside the canvas dwelling.

"You have my thanks, Warden Commander." He stated amicably to Duncan, his tension had been momentarily eased by the hospitality displayed by the Grey Warden.

"There is no need. It was the least I could do. I hope you have a pleasant day and evening." The dark haired man nodded and then left. Cullen gave a cursory glance around to see that their tent had been slightly alienated from the others and he was glad for it. _The privacy will be needed. _He roguishly thought to the darkness inside his mind, and a strange sort of calm settled over him as he lifted the flap and went inside.

"Cullen?" He watched as his wife continued to spread the bedroll on the floor of the tent and her gaze landed on his. The graceful arch of her neck as it tilted to accompany her question caught his eyes and they trailed hungrily down the length of her body.

It was his right as her husband.

"Yes?" He questioned with mock innocence as he had inched closer to his prize. His hands moved behind his back to seal the tent without taking his gaze off of the woman before him. Cullen had never had much experience with the contraptions, but he had been pleased by the odd sense of familiarity that came with sealing the only exit from their secluded bit of privacy.

"What are you doing?" The man could see the bags under his wife's eyes and he had promised that this was only to make sure that her sleep was as restful as possible; that it did not, in fact, have anything to do with jealously or wanting to remind her who she had taken the name of.

"Doing?" He grinned at her boyishly and had started to remove his shirt. "I'm not doing anything, my dear. Just getting ready for a nap." He watched as she sat back on her haunches and he could hear the soft sound of a song in the shifting fog of his mind.

He watched alarm spread across her features and a small flush had heated her pale skin. "You wish to nap? Very well, I will go purchase the supplies while you are resting." Her hand had come forward to help her move out of the crouching position she had previously been in and Cullen grabbed her wrist lightly.

"Now Solona, you know I cannot sleep without you next to me." He throatily stated as he pushed her back gently; which had set her off balance enough that she landed on her backside. The templar took immediate action to the moment of her vulnerability and swiftly moved his body over hers. He could feel her heart race under the contact of his lips to her neck. His teeth teasingly bit down on the junction of her neck and shoulder.

He had been rewarded for his ministrations by a sharp intake a breath and her slightly parted lips. Cullen captured her sweet mouth against his own with passionate fervor that melded the strange voices in his mind into one overwhelming chant of want and lust.

It was his right as her husband.

The darkness around the Templar Cullen faded and a soft glow shone tauntingly in the distance. His years of training had prevented him from succumbing to the temptations that his other personas had caterwauled at him from the void of madness. His hand body felt as if it had been pricked with a thousand needles as he staggered slowly forward into the parted walls of his insanity. Templar Cullen could hear the others calling, shouting, groaning, and he knew naught was it was in regard to.

He could see through his own eyes, but the actions were that of another. His templar senses where enflamed with the bloodlust that came after he had successfully captured an apostate, but there was no underlying rage or anticipation that filled him after a battle. There was only lust swirling hot and heady in his mind. Templar Cullen watched as his hands played upon the body of the Mage Amell and produced a symphony of music as it tumbled from her currently unoccupied lips. He hated what he saw, but at the same time he reveled in it. It was a primal dance as old as the first male and female. She was submitting to him, to what his baser side cried out for and it sickened him slightly; but it had also enthralled him.

Templar Cullen watched as she entwined her limbs around him and singing of her music in his mind had grown louder. It was sensual and so full of need that he had found himself panting even while trapped inside his mind. He could feel each pass of his hand upon her skin, each subtle thrust of his clothed self against her, and the softness of her hair. He was hit by his own want to be controlling the hands that made her moan in ecstasy; to be the one that made her so very vivid and vulnerable. Templar Cullen wanted Mage Amell and he felt the song of her magic pull him forward through the parted walls of his madness.

"We should stop." She had told him, and he knew she was breathless. He noted the way her eyes had glazed slightly with passion and how her voice had turned earnestly sultry from his attentions. "This is not right."

He licked his lips and felt the pressure of his swelled manhood against the exquisite heat of her femininity. "Mage Amell…Please?"


	21. Chapter 21

**Thank you, Thank you, and Thank you for all the reviews! **

_**I blame a certain reviewer for anything even remotely inappropriate with this chapter; Yes Coldblossom I'm talking about you. :D I have also come to the conclusion that there really is no way to make sex sound pretty; passionate, heated, and even all consuming…. But not pretty.**_

**I own nothing, Rated M, Please enjoy.**

**I would like to take a moment to extend my gratitude to Nithu and Coldblossom for their suggestions and corrections. For those of you who **_**really**_** enjoy this chapter, you mostly have them to thank for it :D**

OoOoOo

_Please is a simple enough word_, she supposed as she stared into the lust-darkened eyes of the templar whose normally intimidating frame was pressed intimately against hers. Her blood had slowly started to cool from the heat that had previously blazed a path from her heart to her loins. She should have never allowed the foolhardy situation to progress to this stage; but she had been exhausted from their travels and moreover from denying something she desperately wanted on some level. She had nervously wet her bottom lip by allowing the moist rose-colored muscle to dart out quickly. Solona watched as his eyes had dilated even more at the unintentional provocation she had provided. The young mage felt herself sway to the mounting feeling of carnal need that pooled between her thighs.

Was it truly so wrong to grasp what little happiness she could?

A tense breath stalled in her lungs as the templar's words resounded in her head, and the clear glint in his eyes told her that he was in truth within the bounds of his own mind once more. She could hear the beguiling song of her magic as it conveyed the indecision, want, and excitement that coursed through her body. She had never indulged in relations before. She was far too cautious to participate in that extensive activity while the cornerstone of her plans had lain in being unnoticeable, and unremarkable. That was not to say that she did not know what was entailed in the act of coitus or had not wanted to experience the sensations such an act provided. Solona knew that particulars with a vast knowledge that could only have been gleamed through the study of the human and elven bodies for the most basic of healing arts that she had a knowledge of. That extremely limited knowledge had been of good use when the templar had been injured.

The young mage knew what occurred in the dark crevices of the Circle Tower when the all too watchful eyes of the pious swordsmen were not boring holes into the very souls of the magical occupants. There had been occasions where she had unintentionally borne witness to the more amorous encounters; some were mages that had been notorious for their nighttime indulgences. Therefore, it was not fear of what would occur that gripped her in a bittersweet hold at the thought of fornication, but concern and solicitude at what the ramifications of granting the templar's soft spoken plea, would be. Solona had always listened and observed that was as much a part of her character as breathing for it was instinctive and wholly necessary to continued living. However, the consequence of hearing much in the Circle Tower had been hearing all of the horrific stories of mages who had been befallen by tragedies as a result of their copulations; which had brought the tremor filled pang of reason back from the haze of excogitation.

_I want to say yes._ Her mind sluggishly clambered as she had continued to stare at the man who had a scant few weeks ago been her hunter and captor. _I could say yes._ Solona reasoned within herself alongside the numerous self-indulgent excuses of 'The days we may live are finite'. _It would be wrong for me, the only one of us who is in full control of their mental capabilities, to continue walking this dangerous path._ Yet, her heart had already cried that is was forfeit to the duty-bound Chantry servant. _He would never forgive himself afterward._ _Then again_, Solona mused audaciously, _he might not remember this at all; there is no possible way to determine the extent of the after-effects of the lyrium-withdrawal._

Was it truly so wrong to grasp what little happiness she could?

She was mage born. She was a woman that would never know true happiness for the chance at a perfectly average human life had been stripped from her years ago. Therefore, the young woman understood the likelihood that such an opportunity to have the one thing she desired would not come twice. Her mind covered the essence of what she knew for fact. The young mage knew that the templar would never hurt her unless he felt he had to and she could not fathom a circumstance where he would feel it necessary at the moment. Solona loved him, she knew she did, and if she did not over think the situation overmuch, she could pretend that he had a smidgen of care for her. She did trust him, had always trusted him, and perhaps, that could be enough?

Hazel eyes blinked once up at the carnal amber orbs and felt the pulse of his energy wrap around her magic in a licentious caress. The feel of his energy nibbling uncontrolled at her sorcery invoked a wanton moan from her still parted lips. _Is it enough Solona?_ She had questioned one last time of herself and the subtle thrust of him against her muliebrity caused her to throw caution to the wind for sake of her accursed curiosity once more. _It would be a shame to waste such an excellent opportunity to…ascertain in depth knowledge of the act._ Her distended mind concluded soundly.

The young mage had drawn one more labored breath before offering up her body to the Templar in supplication. Her lips had sought his in a gentle concurrence of his plea. She trembled softly when a single large and rough male hand gripped her hip tightly to bring her closer to his masculinity. Solona felt the magic within her thrum to life once more. She could hear the desire fill the air around her and the push of her own magic was intoxicating to the normally stoic mage. This was not a game between them, nor a struggle for power, but as pure as unabashed need could be and it drove her to arch against his body in silent demand for more.

There was a feeling swelling inside her; it was primal, her want of him, and she intended to indulge it.

Her hands had a will of their own when it came to touching Cullen's body. They held tightly at his shoulders, skimmed his sides, and reached lastly to give one hesitant stroke over the cloth that covered him. A low hiss of approval greeted her shy touch and Solona broke their passionate kiss to stare up at him with questions held in the depths of her quotidian hazel eyes.

The templar moved slightly away from her prone form and a small noise of distress had slipped quickly out of the mage's mouth. She knew with certainty that the look in his burning amber orbs would be engraved in her thoughts for years to come as his hand had lightly gripped hers and guided it to rest over the cloth she had grazed. No words were spoken for none were needed. She was a cunning mage and ithad not taken her even one moment to understand what he wanted from her. Slowly, gently, and nearly reverently she stroked her hand over the bulge that protruded underneath his trousers. Her gaze went directly to his face to gauge his reaction to her touch. She had felt a primal sort of power at the way his eyes had firmly closed and how his face was awash in hunger that needed to be satiated.

Solona was not experienced and knew that she lacked the skills that some possessed at fornication, but she was adaptable even in the face of uncertainty. Her eyes never left his face as her other hand toyed with the laces on his pants and slowly reached inside until flesh found flesh. She watched with fascination as his eyes snapped open to stare at her while a guttural groan tumbled from his lips. She was encouraged when he made no move to stop her and the texture of his manhood underneath her hand caught her attention. She noted that he was smoother than she had imagined when faced with only illustrations of male anatomy to rely upon. The firmness, as well, intrigued her more curious nature and she lightly ran her fingertips from the base to the tip, marveling at the heat it exuded. Her thoughts momentarily turned to the crass jokes the Circle Mages had once made speculating about the templar's having 'Huge Swords'. _Well, that would certainly make a great deal more sense._ She granted quietly.

The young mage understood the workings of her body with precision even if his was uncharted territory. There had been time to explore the world of sensual delight in her extended incarceration of the Circle Tower. She was a curious woman and when faced with the numerous dalliances of other mages throughout the tower, she had pondered quite seriously over what the appeal to fornication was. Solona had found through self exploration that the act of stimulating one's self was gratifying and had left her only questioning if having a partner made the experience more so. She resolved to show him how her body should respond when touched correctly and then she would know the answer to her query.

She was pulled from her musings when the pull of her robe forced her attention back to the wandering hands of the templar. He was, she noted, attempting to undo the tiny buttons on her robe to expose her chest. She knew his fingers were too large to correctly grasp them when he cursed softly under his breath. Solona quirked her lips in a sweet smile at the endearing way he flushed in frustration at being thwarted by clothing. Amber eyes bored into her and he was silent for a moment; she understood he was contemplating something and her eye widened in shock when he grasped both sides of her robe and quickly ripped it in twain.

There was a feeling swelling inside her; it was primal, her want of him, and she intended to indulge it.

She had furrowed her brow when his hand rested on hers to stop its motions. "Not yet." He said through gritted teeth and she wondered mildly what he had been referring too. She had little time to wonder as his hands trailed up the length of her legs, nudging the hem of her robe up as he went. Solona saw his face was full of emotions she had never seen him display while in possession of his true self. The young mage willingly offered her body up to the templar whose face had been painted in desire and an odd sort of tenderness she could not place. Then his lips where trailing a path down her neck and to the valley of her breasts and Solona could not have stopped the keening gasp that resulted. She arched into his mouth as it latched upon the delicate nub at the tip of her breast and she was surprised by the flicking of his tongue against it. The sensation of moist heat over her sensitive buds was an exquisite contrast to her own fingers which had long ago memorized ever stroke or pinch needed to bring her to the physical peak of completion. Solona had blossomed in nights at the tower where seclusion was hard to find but entirely rewarding and she intended to show the templar that.

Her hands sought out his hair and she curled her fingers into it as she had squeezed her eyes shut against the wave of heat that grew inside her. Solona could feel the pleasant tingling within the core of her femininity as his ministrations. There were things about this that she still could not understand, but the intensity of their touches seemed heightened by the way their talents entwined in an equally provocative dance. She knew she wanted something, but her lack of education in this area left her drawing no conclusions as to what that something was. The young mage parted her legs wider to accommodate the templar as his attention shifted to the breast with equal dedication. Solona was desperately trying to tamp down the song of her magic which was growing louder as his hands played her body as if she were a musical instrument. Her magic had matched the salacious way he wrung the moans from her nearly untouched body; pitch for pitch and she was struck with the understanding that Cullen might not be the only templar present in Ostagar. The young mage concentrated on feeling the sensation and not allowing it to manifest in her mystical ability; which did not stop the fire that raced in her veins.

There was a feeling swelling inside her; it was primal, her want of him, and she intended to indulge it.

OoOoOo

He had thought many things about the Mage Amell. He had thought of her as an abomination, cunning to a fault, deplorable, and confusing. He had never thought of her has an enchantress until the moment he had watched her need of him burn brightly in her eyes. There had been an aspect of her gaze that nearly compelled him to act without reason. He could hear the seductive song of her magic resound in his templar senses; the feel of her as she surrounded him was unparalleled. Cullen could have believed in every heartbeat he had touched her, that she was more necessary than lyrium at the taste of her soft lips. 'If this is a sin Maker, then I pray you will forgive me, for I cannot stop,' he fervently admitted.

The feeling of her underneath him was glorious.

The templar understood what drove him forward in his frenzy; there was no look of indifference upon her face when he touched her. He knew her reactions were honest and they created an intense feeling of desire to pulse through him. He could hear it and taste it in her magic. Her moans, he thought, feeling half drugged by her responses, could rival the first long pulls on the magical draught of lyrium with how she left him disoriented in a pure titillation. There was an odd sort of masculine pride that radiated from him at knowing, at least like this, she could never hide from him.

It twisted all of his moral views, what they were doing, but templar Cullen found himself at a loss for the disgust he should have been feeling that had been strangely absent from the first caress. The Chantry had been perfectly clear, in all his years of staunch religious training, about soiling oneself with sins of the flesh and it was doubly damning for Cullen to enjoy the pleasures this mage could provide. He should never have even been tempted into such a debauched act, but instead of crushing anger all he felt, rather unashamedly, was an intense need to possess the woman beneath him who stared at him with such endless pools of hazel. There was sense of urgency to rush headlong into the gratification he knew would be waiting in her soft body, lest she change her mind or he changed his. The mist of the madness that swirled around his thoughts was strangely quiet as he tasted her mouth and skin.

Wickedly, he had felt even more aroused by the way she arched into his touches and silently begged for more. _Sometimes, not so silently._ The baser part of him was faintlyamused, and yet so bewitched by way their bodies eagerly yearned to touch one another. He was finding glory in their embrace and it startled him slightly, but nothing would off put him from this one moment of self-indulgence where no other souls beyond theirs would bear witness to the deed. Parts of him quibbled softly but fell to the way side at the overwhelming surge of human instinct at their position and her willingness to submit to his carnal need.

He had hated appearing weak in her eyes when he had all but groveled for her permission to continue but now, when faced with the reward of what swallowing the shreds of his pride could yield, he was almost pleased with the exchange. The man halted as her hands grasped his lightly and brought them to rest over the engorged areas of her body that needed his attention. Hesitation lightened his touches as he waited with baited breath to gauge how her moaning increased in volume to the ministrations. Cullen decided that he could no longer wait for his partner to free him from the constraints of his pants and chose to do the deed himself. His hands skimmed over her flesh one more time before returning to his own trousers while his lips had captured hers in another searing kiss that had threatened to leave them both breathless. His mind was not aware of much conscious thought for he felt as if her magic had taken if from him. His caresses had grown firmer and more demanding. Logic and protocol had fled him; Chantry dictation could not be recalled and the crazed whispers in his fractured psyche only encouraged him to continue, to do more with her. The feeling of her underneath him was glorious

The templar understood that there would be repercussions for what they would engage in. Part of him feared what would come but the deeper part of him, comprised of all that he had shared with Mage Amell, was more worried over what would happen if she was ever brought before the Chantry for justice. '_Though I suppose that Solona would be the more appropriate name to call her now.' _This was a time where affection can transcend true reason and he wondered if this had not been part of her plotting all along. However, try as he might, he could not bring himself to care about her scheming as much as her welfare. He was wrought with confliction over the prospect of losing her to the everlasting hold of death. Templar Cullen knew the punishments for all infractions of Chantry law, and there was only one verdict awaiting the woman the twisted lustfully in his arms. He forced the rational aside to gaze on her face again and saw her reciprocated trepidation combined with need.

Movements that had been enacted out of instinct and subconscious understanding compelled his limbs. Cullen had been too caught up in the expression on his suppliant's features to truly comprehend how they ended up sans even a stitch of clothing. Perhaps, I am not as unaffected in this moment as I would wish. Templar Cullen had not, until recently, wanted the apostate. His unyielding templar code that had been ingrained into his very soul had been repulsed at the growing strings of care that tied him to the Mage. Cullen, as a man who could feel and understand that attachment to another truly defied all logical reasoning, wanted more than just her body for one stolen evening of passion. Cullen, the man underneath the Templar, had been given a few insane delusions to lives that had her in them. He cherished some of the forged memories of what his life might have been had they been born as different people. _Stop._ He commanded of his vainly wistful thoughts. '_All that is possible now, is this night. This is the moment where we will both find comfort in the arms of each other'._

As long as he lived, whether he understood the memory he would make or not as the lyrium rotted his mind from the inside out, he would cherish the night he had spent wrapped in her embrace. He would treasure the sound of her song and the brightness of her eyes. Cullen knew he would remember the bewitching perfume of her skin and the softness of her lips. He would never forget the night that she had been his.

The feeling of her underneath him was glorious

Gingerly, he nudged her parted thighs slightly wider and lowered his manhood to her opening. A heartbeat of thrilled anticipation burned in his throat. However, before he would allow himself to continue he had to be certain she wanted this; that she understood what he needed of her. There had been a compatible lust-filled silence that neither of them had been willing to break, but Cullen simply had to know that he was not forcing himself upon her.

His gaze locked with her ordinary hazel eyes so full of longing and he held fast. His breaths were ragged and unsure as he waited with barely suppressed hunger. Her soft lips quivered under his gaze, he noticed, and she tipped her head forward in the slightest hint of a nod. A primal cry of relief ripped from his throat as he swiftly plunged into her slickened core. Cullen understood that the act of coupling could be painful for a female if done incorrectly and he still himself; his amber eyes had never left her face.

OoOoOo

It had been swift and it had stung, she cogitated to herself. _Rather like a pinch in the very last place I would want one._ As a mage she was exceedingly used to discomfort and agony, she had found his intrusion to be more on the former than the latter. The young mage had not faltered the reign upon her magic that had continued to croon the headiness of her lust. Solona knew her body could and would adjust. Her patience had worn thin from the exquisite heat he had stoked.

Ageless knowledge, awoken by the animalistic eagerness at being taken, commanded her to wrap her trembling legs around his waist and hold tight to the ephemeral time between them. It had been a silent approval that she was ready or anxious for the templar to proceed. Solona closed her eyes to the first stirring sensations of him within her. She was aware of the warm breeze his panting created across the span of her skin. The young mage had not found it overly pleasurable nor disagreeable, but had found herself focused only on the fell of his energy as it devoured her magic hungrily.

It was raw and powerful, the dance they had entered.

She buried her face in the crook of his neck and clung to him with sheer abandon as her arms snaked over his shoulders for a better purchase. She could not find a rhythm to match his erratically timed thrusts, but she had tried all the same to meet him with each push of their hips. The pulsing around them was jarring and she felt the air crackle when their talents had meshed tighter than their bodies. _Everywhere._ Her lust laden mind chanted. _He is everywhere; inside and outside. I can feel him. _ The way in which he invaded every intimate part of her was terrifying in its candor. Solona had felt exposed even though she was covered from head to toe in the warm skin of her hunter. _He is a hunter and I am the prey. _The sordid thought sent a spike of desire to her core and she had unintentionally tightened around him, which in turn had caused him to moan.

Feelings she could not fully understand bloomed in the wake of his touches and gentleness between them. She noted that he was equally inexperienced and it had soothed the latent worries of inadequacy that slithered quietly like a snake in her thoughts. Her teeth nibbled lightly at the skin covering his collar bone and she grinned slightly when his thrusts turned harder at her interaction. A glaring mockery to the ideal that mages and templars could only hate the one another was their copulation, and still Solona could not contain the building sensation of rapture their coupling provoked. It was not physical, she understood that her body received only enough stimulation to be tolerable given their naiveté in the act, but in her mind the combined talents had flooded her senses to near overload.

It was raw and powerful, the dance they had entered.

The young mage pushed her magic into his body and reveled in the tremors that racked his frame. She watched with fascination the way his lips stretched into a near snarl and how he became more forceful. She wondered idly if it was a warning to mind her role in their blasphemous attachment. Solona could not think to her satisfaction as she bucked underneath him and clawed hotly at his back. She noted that even though growls and moans filled the air, not a single word had been spoken.

"Excuse me?" A rough and yet timid voice called from outside of the tent. Her thoughts immediately had snapped back into the world of rational thinking and self-preservation. Solona clamped her hand over Cullen's mouth and shifted her gaze to the silhouette that had been cast over the tent's entrance,

She closed her eyes for a breath and focused her thoughts away from the tingling in her femininity. "Yes?" Her voice had only carried the slightest note of huskiness and to an untrained ear would convey nothing.

She felt Cullen's breath ghost over her fingers and she worried that he might regret their copulation for it had been interrupted prior to completion. Solona narrowed her eyes at the calmness and reserve overtaking his heated features. _I will have this._ Her mind hissed at the thought of losing some precious chance. The young mage nudged her hips to meet his and wriggled until the glazed look overcame his face once more. She had been forced to bite her lip and hold it between the unforgiving hardness of her teeth when he had reflexively thrust back into her.

"Um. Ah." The male voice had continued outside the thin canvas that separated them from the cruelty of the outside world. "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" Solona had a hard time concentrating on the uncertainty in the interloper's tone.

"Slightly." She dispassionately stated, but her face was twisted with ebullience. "My husband is sleeping, and I do not wish to wake him. Unfortunately I am in a state of undress and cannot come out to speak with you. What did you require?" She watched her hunter nip at her hand as his breaths had grown increasingly labored. Solona felt his energy prompt her that he was nearing the end of his endurance as it was saturated with delight.

"Oh. Um, well this may sound a bit…odd… I mean, I'm sure it's odd to be disturbed by some strange man you've never met. Not that I am _strange_. Oh Maker, what I meant to ask is that I thought I sensed magic coming from this tent. Are you both alright?" She had not failed to register the undercurrent of suspicion in the unknown man's voicethat bombarded her suddenly immobile heart.

Solona continued her movements underneath Cullen and she fought the urge to silence her magic entirely. _If I do that now, it will only confirm his suspicions._ "Magic?" Her tone was falsely incredulous and she stared into the somber eyes of her templar as she felt panic claw from within her. The young mage was mystified as to why the danger of the situation only served to the intensity of the sensations the onslaught of stimulation provided. A primal part of her urged her to finish what had been started for she understood instinctively that there would not be another chance. Worried that he might withdraw, Solona clamped her legs tighter around Cullen's waist to prevent him from escaping. "That is an odd question. I do not know why you would…oh! I do have a few enchanted items in my possession. Could that be the source?" The lie flowed easily from her with little effort.

"Enchanted items?" The man questioned seriously. "Were you using an enchanted item Ma'am?"

Solona wracked her rather burdened mind for some feasible excuse to feed the interloper. "Yes, you see I was trying to cool some of the water in my water skin by dipping a blade that has a Cold rune etched in it, in the water. It does not appear to have worked though." She could have sworn she heard a snort of dry amusement escape Cullen before he buried his head in her neck and nipped at her shoulder warningly. Solona responded in kind by nibbling on the sensitive flesh of his earlobe and watched as he shuddered soflty.

"Cooling water?"The intruder reiterated with relief apparent in his tone. "I am so sorry. Forgive me for interrupting you. Should you require anything, anything at all please do not hesitate to find me." His pleasant demeanor permeated the small space of the tent and Solona wanted dearly to cast a lightning spell on the most sensitive parts of the intruder's anatomy. She understood that she could not carry out with that deserved punishment for it would alert every person in Ostagar and her other Hunters to their location.

"And you are?" Solona marveled at the silence of the templar above her as he ground tightly against her and stilled. The young mage watched his head come up and his gaze latch onto hers as he rode the waves of his peak. She memorized the way his face contorted in ecstasy and she gripped him fiercely in an embrace. Her hands tenderly stroked his back and she place a single chaste kiss on his sweat slickened temple. Her eyes closed and she had contented herself to listening to ragged breathing of her lover.

"Oh, I'm Alistair, a Grey Warden at your service." She heard the sheepishness in his tone and cursed her luck at another templar being in the vicinity of Ostagar; the likelihood had seemed astronomical, and yet, here he was nearly destroying the only time she would be able to know her companion intimately.

"Well met, Alistair. I will let my husband know when he awakens. If you will excuse me, I am rather tired myself." Solona focused on the tone of her voice to manipulate the pitch to reflect exhaustion.

"Of course, rest well." The unknown templar bid and she counted the echoes of his foot falls as he wandered away.

She watched her momentary lover pull away from her. Amber and hazel clashed in mute understanding of what had transpired between them. Solona knew that shame and guilt would later surround them both in a thick veil of confliction. Silence stretched a vast hand between them as she sought out a spare set of clothes. She was forced to make do with men's attire, but it could not have been helped due to the deplorable state of her robe. Her magic had receded back from his energy and the last tendril of their mutual connection broke. Her face slipped into the comforting mask of indifference once more and Solona hurried to make it to the market place before Cullen could think to stop her. It was raw and powerful, the dance they had entered. She watched his expressionless face stare at her and they both recognized what would have to happen next. There were so many things she wanted to tell him. So many things she had always wished to express that now hung around her neck acting as a loadstone to her nearly desperation driven body.

Her chin tilted up in defiance and she quickly left the tent, still clutching the torn remnants of her old robe. She knew time was of the essence and all of her coins were safely held in the sewn-in pouches of her hem. Solona understood that she would not have very long before his templar training overrode any small modicum of affection or intimacy that had passed between them. Nimble hands that shook slightly tore a scrap of material from the robe and tied her hair back to alter her appearance. The young mage recoiled at the knowledge that she was bolting after such a rule-shattering moment, but she could not remain in the custody of a man that would surely turn her over to the Chantry.

She changed how she carried her body and assumed a posture more unnoticeable as she wove through the market as quiet as a mouse. Her steps drew her toward the nearest quartermaster whose balding head glinted in the glow of the afternoon sun. Solona could hear the sounds of mabari as they yipped and growled nearby. Tears threatened to fall but she held them back with an iron will. She was an average woman running for her life. Solona stopped in front of a merchant's wares and through glib talk combined with distraction she purchased or stole the absolute necessities. The apostate moved to a less occupied area and made certain to keep her eyes constantly wandering to detect familiar faces. Among her goods was a single dagger that she wasted no time in utilizing as she grabbed at the ponytail holding her hair and chopped off her long locks. She would mourn the loss of the man she loved she knew with certainty and cast the ordinary brown locks to the ground.

She knew the instant the cry of alarm over her disappearance rendered the air and soldiers were shifting through the market area stopping every female in sight. Hurriedly, she grabbed for the remaining coins in her possession and stuffed the mangled robe behind the back end of a stall. Her quotidian hazel eyes scanned the immediate area and her mind feverishly worked to locate her nearest escape route. She came to the see past the kennels to the wooden gate that barred Ostagar from the unrelenting wilderness of the Kocari Wilds. _It is less than ideal, but more appealing than being executed._

Deftly, she forced her pace to be unhurried and her face free of the worry which permeated every conscious thought she had. She subtlety gripped her new pack with her meager supplies tighter and approached the lone guard with a black mabari at his side. Solona knew that coaxing the guard would get her nothing. She understood that military men responded to rank and command over anything else.

"I'm sorry, but I am under strict orders not to allow anyone to pass." The deep timber of his voice startled her slightly and she concentrated on keeping the desperation out of her tone.

"You dare to block my way?" Her tone was chillier than winter's grasp and she drew herself up to her full height to create a more intimidating presence. "_I_ am under strict orders from the Warden Commander Duncan himself." Solona confidently hissed out at the stunned guard. The war hound had whimpered at the thunderous look on her face.

"The W-warden Commander?" She watched the man tremble slightly at her words and noted that he seemed to be more duty bound than she would have liked. "I'm sorry, miss. B-But I don't have any orders to let you through."

"You are very unwise to anger a rogue." Thin fingers wrapped around the hilt of her dagger and she brandished it menacingly. "I will let the Grey Warden Commander know that _you_ were too incompetent to let me through."

"Duly noted." An amused male voice rumbled from directly behind her. Dread pooled in her limbs at the instant recognition that the Warden in question was already there. She slowly turned to gaze at the face of the man she felt would be her executioner. "Are you already going back to Jader?" She scrutinized his seemingly friendly eyes with distaste for what she perceived to be a jest at her expense.

"Not precisely." Solona stated void of emotion and crawled back into the familiar arms of apathy. Her hazel eyes met his hard brown ones without flinching. She felt unease at the way his gaze actually seemed to penetrate her indifference.

She winced internally at the small noise the Warden made in the back of his throat. "Open the gate." He quietly commanded and turned to look at the guard. "Unless, of course, you prefer to dig the waste pits?"

"No!" The man gasped in horror at the mild threat to his station, Solona nearly took a breath of relief. "I-I mean right away Sir." She watched dispassionately as the plated man scrambled to do The Warden's bidding. She felt as if the mabari was observing her too closely when it gently sniffed the air. Her magic was dampened sufficiently, she knew, when the hound failed to detect the blatant lie she had told. The young mage had not been certain that the dog could have been fooled and so it had been a dangerous gamble on her part.

"You would be welcomed amongst the ranks of the Grey Wardens." Duncan pulled her from her worries with her countenance weakened under what he offered quietly and she shook her head in remorse.

"I could not trade one cage for another. To be at the beck and call of the Chantry or even the prestigious Grey Wardens, I would still be denied my freedom." Her voice was laden with sorrow and determination. She knew he understood her meaning by the way of the small smile he gave her. Solona was not a warrior, she was a mage who only wanted the chance to live a normal life. She was resolute in the goal of being just another face in Thedas. She did not long for glory or battle as others did.

She could feel the pressing of unknown templar energy at her back and she strode forward through the now opened gate without looking back. _It must be that Alistair fellow._ She thought irately at the sub-optimal way in which she was forced to flee back out into Fereldan. The young mage did not hesitate to break out into a run when she heard the creaking of the wood as the gate closed once more. Solona knew that the war hounds would be released to find her shortly, despite the brief head start the Warden Commander had given her, and she would need to venture out into the uncharted areas to avoid capture.

'_Death or death_' she had thought with grimness as the shouts of soldiers echoed deafeningly in her ears. The cry of panic could not drown out the pitiful wailing of her despair. Solona was leaving behind the only being in all of Thedas that mattered to her. For a single moment in time between her ragged breathing and the pain that bordered the brink of exhaustion, she heard the tinkling sound of her heart shattering.


	22. Chapter 22

**So…. I hate having computer viruses, it seems like a non-squitter I am sure, but alas, that is what took so very long. It would be comical if it did not incite me into a fit of near rage. I am also a little hopped up on cold medicine, so this chapter I hope will make sense.**

_**Now, my lovely readers, I know that some of you were upset by Solona just up and running off. I know I would be too, but you are dealing with an emotionally stunted woman who has just had everything boiling to the forefront with a heaping side of guilt. Bear with me my dear readers. I thank all of you for reading and your reviews! And stop guessing where the story is going, you all make me feel like I am not spinning my tale well enough. :P**_

OoOoOo

She sat, as she had been for the last three hours, and stared at the blanket of vast darkness that veiled everything before her. The sky had chosen to espouse her burden and reflected the sorrow that coursed through every vein the young mage possessed. Icy pellets of woe and despair pelted her fragile skin. She had relished the tingling numbness the cleansing rain provided as she fought the emotional turmoil boiling within her soul. The bleak downpour soothed the physical pain that had borne as testament to her crazed dash through all manner of brambles and shrubs; to rest upon the worn-down surface of a battered rock.

Dead eyes shone from the woman who held so perfectly still that any passerby would have assumed her to be a sculpture. She watched uninterested at the falling of chilled water that clung to her eyelashes imitating the very real tears that cascaded down her pale cheeks. She knew that she was weeping only by the stark contrast of blazing heat against the cold rain that besieged her form without apology. She was aware that her greatest asset, her very mind, had rebelled against her to create a unique form of torture as she replayed the feel of his touch within the confines of her thoughts over and over. Solona closed her eyes for a moment of bittersweet surrender as she wistfully inhaled the scent of him all around her. She understood that his smell perfumed her skin and the rain washed it slowly from her. The young mage mourned the loss of the last trace of physical evidence of a moment stolen out of base human nature. What she could have said or done plagued every conscientious thought.

This had been for the best, hadn't it?

She had thought it would be easier to leave him behind; but the glaring image of a life without her Templar threatened to choke the will to live from her already morose form. Rationally, she understood that she had planned to leave him from the very beginning and that she had steeled herself against him for that very reason. Yet, she had given him all that she could ever relinquish and even Solona did not know how much that was. In a sense she had given Cullen everything that lay dormant behind the mask of cool aloofness. Growing within the gilded cage of the tower had taken precious opportunities and left her with less than complete knowledge on the subject.

The muscles of her throat tightened with the fresh sting of sadness that plunged with the same accuracy as a knife between the beats of her heart. Solona opened her eyes slowly to leave them half lidded against the harshness of the night. She had no urge to move from the comforting lull of despair the gripped her fiercely. The young mage had scarcely been gone from his presence a few scant hours, and yet she already found herself haunted by the memory of his amber eyes as they stared at her with such unabashed emotion. _I may come to regret every decision I have ever made since leaving the Circle of Magi, but I will never regret being with you._ She vowed solely before the stillness of the night.

The stillness, the loss of icy pebbles of liquid on her skin, roused her from the cationic state she had willingly fallen into. A pale and shaking appendage was brought to her face as she wiped the droplets that lingered steadfast against her face. A sense of hopelessness filled every single inch of her being at the unfairness of the world. Solona knew the ways of the world well. It was true that she had been sheltered for the majority of her years on this world, but she understood that nothing in life was fair.

Grimly, she forced herself to only value the biting reality of her existence. She could never forget the dangers of her current situation. She was still an apostate on the run; who had committed murder even though it had been in self-defense and had recklessly defiled a Templar of the Chantry. Her heart hammered agonizingly within her chest as despair gave way to a pooling sense of panic as the weight of so much lost time filtered slowly into her thoughts. She blinked once against the cold and dampness. Her lips parted and she drew one shaky breath. Implications of what could occur to her out her alone and nearly defenseless due to her emotional compromise, acted as a vice around her distress. Quotidian hazel eyes gleamed out from the darkness as the young mage focused once more on the only thing that made sense anymore. She still had to escape the murderous clutches of the Chantry.

Her face was placid and her hair hung lankly down her back as Solona brought stiff muscles to life again despite much protest from her numbed limbs. Resolute, she took one step forward again into the mercurial nature of the unknown. The only sound she heard there in the velvet night was the ragged breathing of hysteria that clawed hotly at her mind. Her magic felt heavy and oppressive. It seemed almost too much to not have it constantly be siphoned off of her. Solona gritted her teeth against the fresh wave of longing that spread like wildfire through her body. She had lost a large part of herself on this night. Her magic and mind where safely tucked away in the boundary of her mortal body, but her heart was clasped firmly in the palm of the one man in all of Thedas that might just be determined enough to find her.

This had been for the best, hadn't it? Solona simply could not answer the self-imposed question. In the trifling amount of time she had spent by his side, the most determined Templar she had ever met had cleaved himself to her heart more tightly than the mountains to the ground below. Now she was utterly alone. Loneliness had never bothered the phlegmatic mage before, but it ripped her apart slowly now.

The branches once more nipped at her delicate skin with greedy abandon. Her body shivered under the weight of the drenched gown as she began what felt like a death march into the heart of the wooded area. Solona had lost her bearings long ago and responded only to the primitive compulsion to push ever onward. She took a very finite comfort in the chinking of the coins hidden in the lining of her robe as she walked. The young mage had no plans at this point, the understanding of which had terrified her to no end. She was alone and without a set course in uncharted territories. From the first few steps she had taken out of that created haven where passion had overrode sensibility; Solona firmly believed she was steadily walking toward her own demise.

She knew she was not the greatest women of virtue, nor was she the worst. Once more she found herself in the category of average and even mundane; and for the first time she was aware that she might have gotten herself into a situation that no amount of cunning would be able to free her from. It was not within her nature to blithely flee from her problems. She acknowledged that she had used the reasonable option of fleeing once or twice before. How she had left him had been wrong. Yet, she hoped he might one day forgive her. _Maker knows, I will never forgive myself._ She mused without humor at the irony of all that had occurred while she had been busy making plans.

OoOoOo

"I'm sure Duncan will be here soon." Alistair poked at the stone floor with a slightly tarnished armored boot and spared a glance at the eerily silent man at his side. "She probably did not get very far." He ventured imploringly.

"Clearly, you do not know Mage Amell." The older Templar snapped out nearly tonelessly. It had been a statement of fact; this man knew nothing about his captive. The captive he had allowed to escape after a moment of carnal delight.

Cullen watched with bleary eyes, the scurrying of people grouping together to hunt down and he presumed to kill, the only mage in all of Thedas that had ever escaped him. The pious swordsman stood tall under the scrutiny of the only other Templar present in Ostagar. He believed the man's name was Alistair. Though, Cullen admitted silently that the man's name was of little consequence, he found his temper rather cut to the quick when it came to any form of pomp or circumstance with the other man. The pious swordsman waited stonily in the mail hall of the keep with a bumbling fool of a warrior. Cullen mildly entertained the notion of whether or not it would be possible to slay the other man if he uttered one more syllable about cheese and somehow walk away unscathed. Discipline beaten into him from a time longer than he cared to remember kept his features from twisting into the mask of cold fury that he felt eating a path slowly to his very soul.

It was inconceivable to the normally stable man that Solona could have just walked away with nary a backward glance in his direction. It ate at him in ways that could not have been described to satisfaction. There was so much confusion laced in with the anguish permeating every miniscule part of his body. A very small and lonely part of him was suffused with as much raw hurt as the human mind can uphold. His thoughts had been so painfully perspicuous that the Templar very nearly longed to have the haze of insanity back. Furthermore, if he were able to will the dregs of his mind to block out the staggering implications of what had transpired between them; Cullen would have been grateful. However, he had always attempted to be an honest man even if the truth sometimes was more poisonous than any fabrication the murky depths of a mind could create. _And truthfully, I do not begin to comprehend what it is that binds some part of me to her._

It was not a declaration that is most often made by the overly adulated hearts of poets and bards. It was similar to a scripture out of the Chant he had spent so many years reveling in. It was verifiable truth that was horrible in manner to the Templar; for Cullen bore the full brunt of the association. There was such an acute and sharp feeling of loss that Cullen braced himself for the pain that followed. He had felt despair before when his men had been slaughtered by the blood mage and their bodies had lain barley cooled upon the ground. However, he could not have been prepared for the longing that met the absence of _her._ Even in the private sanctuary of his mind he could not bring himself to voice her name. Cullen felt adrift in an unending sea of the harshness of reality.

He cared not about the looks or whispers of his fellow Andrastians as they had not even attempted to hide their open and accusatory glances at his perceived failing. _The Maker knows my sin._ He hissed violently the unspoken words. _What I have done is not for your judgment but his._ His lips had pressed themselves into a thin line of ill-disguised restlessness. There had been only two things on his mind since he had stridden from the tent to alert the surrounding guards about the apostate that had just fled. The first thought he became cognizant to was the possible repercussions for his moment of weakness that seemed staggering to the ridged Chantry devoted male. Cullen had seen his fair share of the more barbarous side of the Chantry to anyone that became less than vigilant in their servitude of the Maker. The second thought, a much more vile thought that had caused his very lungs to freeze for a moment in time, had been what might happen to said apostate.

Cullen had earnestly thought he had responded with enough haste to see Mage Amell captured once more and locked safety away until another Templar sent by the Chantry could collect her. The very concrete happening, however, was that she was free upon the land once more. Templar Cullen had met and had altercations with many a mage prior to Amell, but he recognized that she was by far the most slippery to catch. Battle-hardened skills and strategies streamed effortlessly through his mind that felt as if it were stewing in chaos. He understood that there was emotional conflict there now, where there had never been a matter before. He had no inclination, not even the tiniest of inklings, as to where Mage Amell might have gone, or what she had taken with her. In the deepest recesses of his mind, where the remnants and shadows of other Cullen's lied, he wounded his heart by wishing that Mage Amell was never discovered.

Emotions, tumultuous and deep raced across his heart with the efficiently of a prize stag running for its life. He was uncertain whom he was more irate with. Was he upset with himself for giving into a temptation of the flesh? Or was he furious with Solona, _Mage Amell_, for simply leaving him? Templar Cullen was a rational man, and rationally he was angry but he doubted very strongly that there was a word sufficient for his feelings on the subject. Templar Cullen was foremost a pious man. He never stood on ceremony or entertained foolish notions. Templar Cullen was a gentle man by nature and a ruthless warrior by heart. He was not among those that enjoyed tormenting the hunted. He was the man that brought back apostates and maleficars or destroyed them. _But this is not just another maleficar or apostate._ The gentle side of him prompted lowly at the stray thought. _This is someone who means far more to me than she should. _His faith in the Maker was always unshakable, something he attributed his success too. His faith in the maker was still just a strong as it had been prior to the meeting of Mage Amell and if it were possible, might have been tempered to an even greater strength because in some form of backward logic she was created by the Maker, and therefore, she was not a dammed being. Cullen winced at his own blasphemous thought, he was only a Templar, it was not up to him to question the will of the Chantry.

Yet, if he where wholly honest, he was not Templar Cullen anymore.

In many respects he was in fact still the same devout man who had spent a lifetime in the tender tutelage of the Chantry. However, everything he had ever been lead to believe had fallen to the wayside with the presence of an average face and the sweet but haunting melody of her magic. He shifted against the dulcet tones that still reverberated in his senses for he could still hear the beguiling song of her sorcery.

Cullen adored Solona, but Templar Cullen loathed Mage Amell. Everything the she had ever done to him and for him blazed a fiery path across his thoughts. He understood that she had saved him, when it had been in her best interests to let him die. His ego still prickled at the memory of her near instantaneous surrender into his authority; it has seemed far too easy to gain her compliance. Cullen recalled that she had lied to him, more times than he could ever count while his madness had nearly ended him but she had never sought to harm him. In fact, all evidence had pointed to the contrary. Enemy to her kind or no, she had gone out of her way to keep him safe, a kinship he never would have attributed to a mage before her. His throat constricted at the memory of her sweet smiles and the feel of her supple skin under his hands. Fury, strong and undeniable welled within him at the remembrance of her departure. He had sinned. He had thrown everything away for one moment of animalistic passion with the most cunning mage in all of Thedas. _The most ordinary mage I have ever met. _

Ordinary and so very humdrum that had he seen her on a crowded street, even he would not have looked at her twice. Now, he knew with grim certainty, he would never forget her face. Cullen had memorized the precise way she tilted her head when she was figuring something out. He knew the each expression that had ever crossed her face that was not a practiced physical lie. He was a man, who understood and was terrified by the understanding of what it was to love a woman. Perhaps, had he realized sooner where their path was heading, he might have changed it; Cullen was for the first time in his life, undecided.

He knew she was unremarkable in many aspects. Cullen had traveled with Solona for weeks now and felt every part of her. He was hesitant to put a name to the feelings that swelled when he had pictured her eyes or recalled the exact pitch of her laugh. Wistful dreams and ideals of a boy that Cullen had thought to have matured in the ways of the world long ago. _How quickly the wheels of fate turn._ Common sense had prevented him from following her like a thief into the night. There were some things which simply could not be and he knew with absolute clarity, that a life with her was one of them. Cullen wondered briefly if he would still be a Templar by this same hour on the morrow. He mused without humor the certainty of being required to capture Mage Amell a second time.

He was her hunter, and a burning pride lodged firmly in his mind. It was his duty, nay his privilege to bring her back to the Circle tower and see her justice meted out to her. However, the tiny seeds of doubt wrapped sickly fingers around his newly healed mind. Did he want to bring her in? Or did he just want her? _No._ Cullen's mind roared viciously at the heretic thoughts. He had sworn long ago that nothing would ever sway him from rules of the Chantry. Templar honor thrummed in his veins and the chant flowed freely in his mind. Cullen was a Templar and his time as a Templar would forever be an integral part of who he is.

Yet, if he where wholly honest, he was not Templar Cullen anymore.

"I-I'm sure Duncan will be here….any minute now." Cullen spared a contemptuous glance to the man called Alistair.

"Yes. I'm sure he will." The tone was frostily polite and the distain had barley been concealed as Cullen stared down the man who fidgeted under his gaze.

OoOoOo

She was being watched, and she knew it. Solona forced the tension from her shoulders and plastered a guileless expression upon her face. Cautiously, she tampered down the hum her magic produced and continued without hurry in a direction she did not know. In all sincerity she understood that she was wandering blindly about the land and that was a reckless as one could accomplish, but she had little choice in the matter. Solona felt the forest grow quiet and her eyes darted swiftly around the darkness to see any shapes or outlines of danger. The stars where to dim on this night to visual sight much of anything, but she had learned that continuous movement of one's eyes and not just staring straight ahead, allowed one to see motion in the inky blackness.

Leaves crinkled mutely, so softly she strained to hear them as they broke into pieces on the wilds' floor. The young mage altered her steps slightly, stopping and continuing at nearly random intervals. She had found it a touch too coincidental that whatever was lurking behind her had done the same. Ordinary hazel eyes scanned the darkness and she was beset by the image of the figure following her; she noted with slight alarm, was low to the ground and proceeded by two luminous golden eyes. Solona calmed her already frazzled nerves and stood straight to face the encroaching creature.

_For all intents and purposes, it appears to be a wolf._ Her mind readily supplied and Solona sculpted her features into bland indifference while she had scrutinized the animal before her. She understood immediately that whatever it was before her, was not in fact a wolf. _An extremely close replica_, she grudgingly admitted, _but the eyes are too human._ Indeed, she had noticed that while the creature did have very authentic fur and even the proportions where correct, the eyes gave the creature away. Self-reservation bloomed swiftly in her thoughts.

"Whoever you are, I mean no harm, and I am just passing through." Solona blithely stated. Her voice was flat, even to her own ears and for a moment she could have sworn that the wolf-creature smirked at her in amusement. Dread began to coil in a sickening ring around her stomach.

They stood for several tense moments and her gaze clashed with that of the dark creatures. Solona dodged the majority of probing tunes from an unfamiliar magic on her own. There were very few artifices in the Circle, but proper introduction before meddling in the very essence of another spell caster, had always been one of them. She narrowed her gaze ever so slightly at the unknown person and made no move to react.

After a few silent moments the creature appeared to grow bored with her and turned around. She watched with agitation as it walked lazily away from her. Solona clasped a shaking hand to her side, a firm fist on her satchel and once more walked blindly into the darkness.

"I would not go that way, if I were you." Solona froze softly as the words drifted thunderously from the direction of the creature.

Solona never sought out trouble, a trait which had served her well during her time in the tower. She was not foolhardy where it could have been avoided and therefore, she erred on the side of common sense in which advice freely offered should be heeded. However, there was a hidden risk of danger for she understood that following blindly might very well end her life prematurely.

"Would you not?" She inquired back lightly. Her wet hair clung to the frigid and damp robe when she had turned. Plain hazel had clashed with exquisite gold. Solona blinked languidly at the willowy but dark figure that had previously been in the shape of a wolf.

"Indeed. I have watched you, you know?" The smooth and falsely sweet tone grated sharply on Solona's ears as the words dripped with distain.

"I was aware." The young mage replied in a baleful voice that edged on boredom. However, Solona tilted her head and took a steadying breath as the rush of nervousness overtook her. It had been her observation that playing with wild animals often leads to someone getting mauled.

She watched as the other mage walked closer toward her, seemingly unconcerned, but Solona noted the tension in the woman's hands and the way in which her eyes darted quickly to Solona's own. The other woman was seeing if Solona would attack. She nearly snorted at the realization; however, she had no wish to force a confrontation.

"Where does she go? I wondered. What is doing?" The unknown mage pondered allowed with a mocking lit in her voice that had Solona's magic nearly on edge. _Dangerous._ Her mind whispered quietly and she watched the interloper more closely.

"Truly? Forgive me if I find myself less than flattered." Solona stated vaguely, her emotions never settled long enough to give heat or jest to her response.

She watched the other woman arch a brow in suppressed amusement. "That hardly seems like a civil greeting."

Solona narrowed her eyes slightly and focused on one breath to the next and keeping her body as free of tension as possible. She needed to not provoke the other mage, or if the need arose, she might need the element of surprise on her side. She knew virtually nothing about this potential opponent and cold dread seeped up her spine slowly.

"How remiss of me, My name is Solona it is a pleasure to me you." Her apathetic face and voice made the statement a mockery of what it should have been.

"Now that is a proper, civil greeting. You may call me Morrigan, if you like." The woman grinned wickedly at her and Solona shifted her weight back slightly.

_No_, she thought with growing apprehension as the waves of symphony of old and powerful magic rang from the trees behind her in the direction she had been heading, _I do not like this at all._


	23. Chapter 23

_**As some of you may have guessed, last chapter was more of a transition piece so that we can take an in-depth look into both Solona and Cullen. My hearty thanks to all that reviewed and read! But my ramblings are not what you came for, I am sure.**_

**I own nothing, rated M. Please enjoy.**

OoOoOo

Cullen could still hear the chirping of small insects as they meandered slowly in the stillness of the grass outside of his tent. The same tent that he had shared with Mage Amell which had seemed so very inviting and safe just days before; now seemed to encompass his own private requiem of yearning. Thoughts not wholly his own, but no longer part of another aspect of him wove covetously in the humble space. Many hours since her departure, too numerous to count, and all he had been able to do was think of her. Cullen could not stop the gentle but firm musings that filtered through his mind with the subtlety of a summer breeze. His anger still burned brightly with the white hot intensity of the sun itself, but it was tempered slightly by the chilling fear that ached deep within his belly at her continued absence.

Days and nights had bleed in an unhurried pace together; so much in fact that Cullen was not aware of even the vaguest notion of time anymore. He was listless in his days and restless in his nights. Those nights were fraught with dreams of her and memories of things that had never occurred or he had only viewed from a distance. He had set about hashing out the actual from the absurd; yet, no matter how long he had toiled in the scrambled reflections of his thoughts, he had never been able with absolute certainty, to understand what it was that had passed between the mage and him. He had often pondered if her reaction to him was out of affection or some clever attempt at freedom. An attempt which had later proved to be successful and then his anger and hurt would begin anew in a vicious cycle that left him exhausted from endless implications.

He realized he had never understood her.

The Templar had not been confined to the tent out of punishment, much to his displeasure the Warden Commander had not broached the subject even once; but instead he had submitted himself to the captivity to avoid the prying or pitying eyes of his fellow man. Cullen understood his obligations for they had never changed. He knew the severity of his trespass and was shamed by it. However, there was some strange feeling that burned in his chest with fiery abandon at the thought of her. There had been a great deal of animosity directed toward the mage as well, but even the throes of rage had been unable to dim that other stronger feeling that Cullen wished had never been born.

The same pulsating and tingling that ran over his nerves the first time he was gifted lyrium. Cullen paused in his philosophical musings to push away at the deep seeded fear that had sprung from a more recent development. While it was true that very little was known about lyrium withdrawal outside of it's devastating mental deteriorating side-effects; Cullen never would have predicted what had become of his predicament. Whatever had passed in that carnal exchange between his Templar energy and her mage essence had broken through his physical dependency and altered it on some level entirely unreached before. He had understood that lyrium withdrawal was an inauspicious thing at best; but all his piety and stalwart faith in the Chantry had left him bereft of the ability required to cope with this sudden and extraordinary life altering situation.

Healers had descended upon him with the sickening ferocity of vultures circling a large kill despoiled in the sun for weeks. Chantry sisters had poked and prodded his form, done strange evaluations with the help of Circle Mages. Cullen had hardly been able to stand the sight of another mage. Instead of the anger he had clung to in desperation of a perch upon his old life, he had felt a deep sorrow of loss. It was irrational but he had truly begun to miss the apostate. The healers had tentatively warned him that he was remarkably well for having suffered lyrium-induced madness. He had been horrified when they stressed to him that there had never been a case of such miraculous recovery or wholeness of mind prior to him. The fine point of a sword through his belly would have been kinder than receiving such a mystifying announcement.

For days he had scrutinized every waking moment that could be recalled of their traveling time together and the realization had dawned on him with only one stone cold truth; Mage Amell had given him her magic to keep the majority of his mind intact. It had been the only plausible explanation he could amass. The Templar could have recalled in vivid detail the song of her magic. The magic he had been imparted with in supplementation of the loss of the lyrium had changed him forever in a way that he had never been prepared to entertain the possibility of. In short, his senses could no longer be cleared by the ingesting of one little vial of crystalline blue liquid. A racing feeling of pure clarity no longer filled his heart and his reflexes. Lyrium had been rendered useless to him now. His body had turned against the most common tool in a Templar's arsenal. But why? He often had asked of empty space in the tent. Why did she give me her magic? There was no publications he had ever read about supplementing magic for lyrium. Had it been a gamble? He had doubted that Mage Amell capable of anything except the utmost planning and intelligence. Cullen had grasped at all possible angles as to her out of character act of benevolence, but he had still come up empty-handed. He was furious that she seemed to have saved him yet again. It was a fact that had weighed on his pride and his guilt in equal measure as he could not fathom why she had always seemed to keep him safe. It was an enigma that reached sticky fingers into every waking moment.

He realized that he had never understood her.

Cullen only left his social exile for meals and he had been hard pressed to even do that. His fingers itched when he passed by an of the Grey Warden mages. He clenched his teeth against the wave of nausea the songs of their magic brought him. Each song had seemed too harsh, too garish, and too surfeit. His Templar essence would seek them out, any close magic born, and seemed to sample the air in a solemn search for something he denied to place a name too. Iron-clad will kept him from seeking permission to take magic in supplication of his body's lyrium rejection.

Guilt and shame, a tempest without mercy plagued him endlessly in a self-contained hell. Cullen understood that he should have confessed his debauched act with the apostate, but he had never been able to bear voice to the proclamation. He stood every day stoically ready to face the ultimate punishment for his crime. Cullen turned his face toward the opening of the tent and ran a shaking hand through his messy mane of hair. He knew he needed to have his hair trimmed before he was collected by his Templar brethren from Lothering. The Templar had mentally prepared from them drawing closer and each day that passed felt more and more like a noose around his neck. Yet, he would go boldly to his own demise if that meant redemption for his honor, but he was saddened at the thought of never seeing her again. It was a heretic thought that had shaken him to the core. He was a Templar with all the constraints and responsibilities that came with such a weighty mantle. He was a man who had been the executioner for more apostates and abominations than he cared to number. He was by no means perfect but his faith was strong in the Maker, a God who had abandoned the world, however, he and many others kept a steadfast vigil in hopes to change their fallen world. Cullen was an average man in so many respects and like any other man he felt with the same intensity a tender notion called love. His throat tightened as he pictured her face once more.

Silently, he snuck fingers into breast pocket of his tunic, he had been denied the right to armor as of yet, and pulled out gently a lock of ordinary brown hair that had been clumsily tied off at one end with rough beige twine. Cullen had not been overly surprised to have found it laying on his bedroll shortly after the initial search for the Mage Amell had been dismantled due to the encroaching nightfall. The Templar had been hesitant at first to touch it and had chosen instead to stare at the offered trinket with a baleful mistrust. However, when the strands of hair had failed to mutate into an abomination or the Grand Cleric herself, Cullen had snatched the small token and kept it with him. The man was still unsure as to whom had placed the locket there, but he prayed silently for a blessing upon their head. His energy could still sense the trace amounts of her sorcery carried deep within the now unattached strands. Cullen traced calloused fingers across the softness very nearly reverently.

He realized that he had never understood her and in the quiet walls of his heart, his greatest regret before what he assumed was his certain demise; would be the single fact that he would never be able to tell her goodbye no matter how much he wanted to.

OoOoOo

Solona had always considered herself to be an intelligent woman. She had always prided herself on evaluating all possible option before entering into a situation. However, she understood that time was not always a kind mistress and her options as she stood staring down the golden eyes of an unknown mage seemed limited. _Limited seems a trifle too generous_. She groused lowly in her mind. Solona had often heard wild tales of a 'Witch of the Wilds' a reputed mage of unimaginable strength rumored to have lived back in the days of Conobar. She had never put much stock in such flights of fantasy, but now faced with the feral gleam in the other woman's eyes Solona had a moment of trepidation.

"Only passing through she says." Solona watched with an outwardly placid serenity as the young woman had begun to circle her. Hazel eyes shifted slightly to focus on the movement before snapping back to their original direction. "Tell me. Why then are you still standing here? Are you afraid that I might eat you should you move? I admit that I have so wanted new prey." Solona blinked once languidly before adjusting the lump in her throat sufficiently to respond.

"Perhaps I am simply catching my breath while taking in the lovely scenery." She tensed slightly when the unknown mage, referring to herself as Morrigan, laughed mockingly at her light barb. Solona had little recourse but to feel this potential opponent out. She cursed lightly under her breath for another display of magic would only expedite her other hunters locating her. She knew this was still unexplored territory for the most part, but that did not lend her to invite stupidity on her part. Solona would not have been any less susceptible to the dangers of the Kocari wilds and she at the very least had the fore thought to recognize that glaring fact. The odds, however, where not in her favor. She stood a slim chance of taking on a fully rested and magically full mage regardless of skill level.

The dance of deception had begun again.

Damp tendrils of freshly cut hair plastered her wan face as Solona hesitantly touched the song of her magic. _Soft. Slow. Edge but do not push_. Her mind tiredly sought to gain a foothold in a potential battle. She understood that to have survived out in the wilds without being captured or killed required a high level of intelligence on the part of the person before her. It would also have called for a good measure of cunning and the ability to kill without mercy or hesitation. She noted the way the dark clad mage shifted slightly in impatience. _Or perhaps wariness?_ Solona narrowed her eyes slightly behind the passive mask. She had never been gifted for judging magical power and even though the attempt seemed futile, she pressed onward.

"Scenery? Well, that is new. How far you must have ventured for a glimpse of foliage and rock? Such determination for the land's finery is admirable." The golden eyes and smirk that accompanied the woman's vulpine features aggravated Solona greatly. Still, there was knowledge to be gained from such a response and a weakness that could have been exposed. Solona simply willed herself to find it. _Single staff; unknown origin or power; young…perhaps mid-twenties. She is unafraid to turn her back to the woods, which would suggest that there are no nearby predators. She wasn't the source of the other magic, but she seemed unperturbed by it. That would mean she is familiar with the true source and does not wish me to go near it if her warning was any indication._ Thoughts and observations trickled through her mind like droplets of water collecting in a cloud waiting for the impending storm.

Solona kept her eyes forward as the woman came back into view. She fought to hide the tale-tell marks of exhaustion. She needed to portray confidence and apathy. If the woman were of the same mannerism as the animal she had mimicked, then appearing as a larger threat, or not a threat at all were her only options. Solona had no want to use her maker-given talents because using them now against a stronger opponent was sheer folly. Also, she knew that it would only cause her phylactery to light again and draw her hunters steadily near. There was a well of determination not to bring them down any sooner than needed, she had placed space between her and the men she had slain and in doing so had placed distance between her and the Templar Cullen.

If she had to act braver then she felt, so be it.

"Poor little lamb seems so misplaced out here amongst the harsh whims of my Wilds." Golden eyes slanted cruelly in the night and gleamed with them an air of promised pain.

Solona grit her teeth with a wave of irritation and hopelessness. It seemed to her that this 'Morrigan' was bent upon forcing an unneeded confrontation. Rain-slicked temples pounded with concentration and self-preservation. She was a normal mage, with average capabilities only because she had spent far too many hours dedicated to freedom and not the values of magical study. She had not counted on needing them against another mage before. Solona was marked with the strange sensation of being watched by more than just the predatory eyes before her.

"Your statement is incorrect." Solona felt a mocking smile as it had played at her lips. She amusedly watched the other mage glower in surprise at her cheek. "Lamb implies that I am newly born. As you can certainly see, I am neither new nor old." Her features remained calm even as the other's twisted in disapproval. "Or do you mean to call attention to your poorly concealed jest about you being the wolf and I being the ewe to slaughter?" Solona tilted her head, and adjusted the span of her shoulders to appear slightly wider and thus more intimidating.

The dulcet tones of aged laughter paused Solona in her tracks. Surprise flickered across her face for only a heartbeat before she clamped it down and schooled her features once more. She could have sworn her heart had taken up new residence in her already abuse throat.

If she had to act braver then she felt, so be it.

"My, my, how clever this one is." Solona understood that her breath hitched in an audible fashion that left the bid for apathy null and void. Quotidian hazel eyes flickered to the source of the laughter as she spun quickly around; nervously she had placed her back to the golden eyes of one predator to stare at another set. Solona was understood why they looked so similar instantly. She was sure that this was the woman's mother. Her overtaxed brain had wracked itself for any tales about a mother and daughter pair in the Kocari Wilds but drew nothing. "Tell me clever child, how do you intend to out run the Chantry?"

Solona blinked once in open mouth shock. There could be no way this woman knew anything about her. She had always been able to fade to the background and while she remembered nearly every face she had ever laid eyes upon; Solona knew she had never met this woman before. _I must not panic. I must not._

Instinct flared brightly then, her body closed in around her protecting weak spots and minimizing the target area she presented to these two magical women in the dead of night. She knew that she had three possibly four spells in her at best, none of which would be a killing blow. Solona traced well-worn strategies in her memories. _Fireball to the younger and if I run left, there was a stream I heard not too long ago. Earthquake to disorient and that will take the bulk of my magic._ Worry had seeped in to fill every fiber of her being. Solona was aware of the hairs on the back of her neck that stood ridged at the presence of something truly deadly.

"Come now, there is no need for all that. If I wanted you dead, you would be. I don't make a habit of toying with my kills." Solona jerked slightly from her thoughts and the spell fell softly from her lips completely ineffective. "Had fate twisted in the opposite direction, you and I would have had a much different first meeting." She stood rooted to the ground staring back at impossibly knowledgeable eyes. "But enough talk of what might have been. Come Morrigan." She heard a dismissive snort from her back and Solona trembled unable to hide the tremors any longer. "She is not our concern."

"Is she not? How curious." Sarcasm oozed like venom from a serpents mouth and Solona refused to gaze at the creature producing such a toxin. "Perhaps we will meet again, little ewe."

"I look forward to it…bitch." She had whispered long after they had gone; long after she had stood there staring at the nothing more than the memory of haunting golden eyes that bore only an ominous reference. However, the human body has always had limits and hers had been reached. With her thoughts scrambled and pulse pounding in her ears; terrified and lonely hazel eyes rolled back into her head and blackness overcame her.

OoOoOo

Cullen trudged with head held high into the office of the Grad Cleric as the weight of his new armor acted as a load-stone around his neck. He had spent the last three weeks in quiet contemplation after he had been collected from Ostagar. The man snuck furtive glances at his kith for within the breastplate as close to his heart as he had been able to manage, was a lock of ordinary brown hair tied with rough twine. Cullen had been sorely tempted to leave the keepsake; however, his sentimental side had balked fiercely at losing the last remaining trace of his darling. _No other name suited her more._ The thought of never calling her the endearment out loud smarted painfully as his thoughts raced of what would be required of him once he met with the Grand Cleric. His Templar brethren had welcomed him back with open arms and some had been near tears when he had debriefed them and given a formal statement to the Circle of Magi over the events that corresponded with a Blood mage and one Mage Amell. The bodies of his men had been sent after and he allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief that his men would have a proper burial and their families would be made aware of their bravery and sacrifice. It had been a bitter-sweet moment of triumph that the blood mage had not cast his men into obscurity, and that he had been able to keep his vow to see them buried in consecrated ground. Cullen had been kept in the Templar quarters of the City, not far from the main wall as they had been needed for reinforcements in times of war or strife. The barracks which had been a comfort and place to belong prior to his bout of madness now seemed stifling. Strangely, he had been more comforted by this place, surrounded by his peers who had not sullied their honor and broken vows to the Maker, than he had with the too perceptive eyes of the Grey Warden Commander. Cullen had felt lost under the gaze of a man who did not damn him, but pitied him. Templar Cullen could not stand to be pitied.

He had yet to hear word on Mage Amell.

The lack of credible reports worsened his frayed nerves and the disquiet over the length of time without sighting the apostate gnawed feverishly at his heart. He wondered often if she was unharmed. Cullen knew she was cunning and in a sense she was ruthless, but he had recalled too easily how she was not always what she portrayed. In his mind he had tried to compile everything he knew about her and all of it was so full of imperfections that she had become more than just a one night lover to him. His Templar training still demanded that he think of her as nothing more than Mage Amell, but she wasn't just a mage anymore, she had not been in a long while. It was senseless and most likely untrue in her eyes, but he thought of her as his. There was a strange feeling of possessiveness that arose whenever he thought he caught her song when passing random strangers in a market place. He had always been disappointed and felt more than just a bit cheated whenever his gaze never found her face.

He had been reprimanded for his failure to guard against the mage while in lyruim withdrawals, something that carried a certain social stigma he had been prepared for, but there had also been unease around him when the others had been informed of his developed resistance to lyrium. Cullen acknowledged that for the most part he was now an oddity amongst his kith; however, he was past caring what they thought. Moreover, his more rational and educated-self comprehended that there might be a very harsh punishment for him later, after the full story of his involvement with her came to light and his response to such an entanglement was made known. I don't know who I am anymore. He had come to the conclusion long ago. Cullen understood that he had changed and while his face seemed the same and his mind thought in similar patterns; there was someone new looking back at him behind amber orbs. The change had not been unwelcomed; merely unknown and he had always disliked the unknown for more reasons than there were stars in the midnight sky.

The heavy scent of long burning incense assaulted his nostrils and stung his eyes. What had before been a welcoming odor now lingered far too long like the overly heaped on perfume of a cheap whore. His love of the Chantry is still there and is surfaces every so often, but the logic behind his adoration falters. He remembered being younger, and mages where people once but the Chantry told him that they were evil monstrosities carved from the hellish-halls of the Black city. Cullen had thought these truths to be self-evident, but that would not explain Mage Amell. _If all mages are truly monstrosities, then why did she save me time and again?_ His male pride had stung form the reaffirmation of her role in their relationship. He should have been the one who saved her, and yet, even though she had a cause in his mental duress; he was sure she did, she had never left his side. _So why then, did she never let me die?_ Templar Cullen had no answer. Everything had pointed out a clear benefit to simply continuing on or letting nature take its course and leaving him a dried out corpse along the road.

He had yet to hear word on Mage Amell.

The candle sconces on the wall shook when he closed the door behind him. The dim room that housed the most holy being in all of Thedas, the Grand Cleric, felt more like a coffin than a room. Cullen wondered in blasphemy what the woman before him could have ever understood about hardship and the real world outside all of this finery.

"Templar Cullen" A reed thin voice twanged garishly out from behind a rich wooden desk that reflected more of the dim light upward. The face of an elderly woman peered back at him from the darkness as he had dropped to one knee in reverence, her features bathed in motherly affection.

"Your holiness." He murmured with eyes fixed directly at the floor. His thoughts should have been focused on what is going on before him, but all Cullen spared thought for was the woman he could not have. He understood his failings and he sins, but he would never voice it. Something in him rebelled at the thought of calling what had transpired between them a sin any longer. _It was breaking a vow, and tarnishing my honor, but it was not a sin_.

"Rise Templar. Allow me to look upon you." Cullen stood mutely and gazed detached into watery blue eyes that seemed too old for even their host.

Templar Cullen knew he should confess. He understood the only way to ask for forgiveness and lesson his punishment would have been to place a voice to his broken oath. Unfortunately, as mightily as he had tried, no sound would ever be born into the world on the subject.

"I have heard distressing reports about your most recent hunt." Boney fingers tapped lightly on the arm of an overly extravagant cathedra. Cullen mused absent mindedly if Mage Amell might not have been sly enough to talk the Grad Cleric off of her throne. He roused himself from such a ludicrous notion and cursed his stray thoughts.

The Templar searched for the proper words to respond. "It is with a heavy heart that I report upon the loss of my men."

"Hm. And it was Mage Amell who slew them?" Watery blue eyes sharpened on his features and Cullen fought to keep the sweat from gathering at his temples.

"No, you holiness. It was a renegade blood mage." His throat had tightened as images of his men's bodies floated to the forefront of his mind.

"I see. Then the apostate Mage Amell has never taken a life?" Her question was curious and sounded nearly bored to his ears.

The Templar felt the world was crashing in on him. He had a duty, a sacred duty to uphold. Cullen knew he had to report what she had done even in self-defense. However, the words just seemed to evaporate from his tongue. "Never, your holiness." His fingers shook within the confines of his new armor. Cullen understood that he was irrevocably damned now. _I do not deserve to wear the holy symbol of Andraste._ He morosely grieved.

He heard the shifting of fabric and noted that the Grand Cleric shifted slightly forward toward him. "I have also heard report that you are no longer able to imbibe lyrium. Is that true?" He marveled at how her features had turned from motherly to violent in the span of a breath.

Cullen swallowed once even though his mouth had gone dry and his heart fluttered in the pit of his stomach. Shame clenched tightly at his voice. "I-I can no longer draw power from lyrium, that is what the healers and consorts of the Circle have told me, yes. I have also noticed the accuracy of their findings." His back straightened and he pushed his chin slightly higher.

He watched as the Grand Cleric pursed already thin lips together in obvious displeasure. "That is disheartening news, to be sure." Her eyes pierced him once more and Templar Cullen nearly broke down and spilled out the secrets of his failings. "Tell me, Templar Cullen, what happened while you were escorting the Apostate Amell?"

His tongue was leaden in his mouth as he fumbled to begin his tale. The words poured like water once he managed to move his leviathan of a tongue. "We had been dispatched from the Circle of Magi and were taking the imperial highway toward Ostagar and down to Gwaren, upon the information delivered to us by one Mage Anders." He watched the Grand Cleric frown at the name mentioned. He allotted that the Mage Anders was more than a little renowned for his tenacity in attempting to escape the Circle. Cullen waited for her silent nod to continue. "When we had passed Ostagar, having stopped to gather information as per protocol and add to our dwindling supplies; we were drawn off the main road by a call for distress. When we reached the source of the call we found a man being attacked by an apostate." Even though he was a battle hardened man, he stole a shaky breath and pushed beyond the pain that the memory of his men brought. "When we intervened, the maleficar made himself known and used the thrall of a blood mage to overtake a few of the men and he succeeded in turning one against the rest of us. I was wounded but struck him down. I was unable to save the others." Guilt and shame flooded him swiftly and he bore the responsibility for their deaths without complaint.

"Yes, I have read that much. I am curious however, how it was that you and only you found the apostate Amell." Anger boiled in his veins at the Grand Cleric's casual dismissal of the men that had died in his service, in her holy army, but he said nothing and did not allow a trace of it to show on his face.

"I did not find her, your holiness." He saw the look of perplexity that crossed her face before he had chosen to clarify. "She came upon me. She claimed to have been drawn by the presence of magic."

"Amazing little beasts, mages; really one wonders how they are always sniffing out their own." The holy woman mused softly and Cullen felt a surge of resentment rise up at her words. The Templar in him sought to quell that feeling swiftly, but the man that owed a mage his life was more than ready to be acrimonious toward the Grand Cleric.

"She tended my wounds" He continued stonily onward. "I was fit enough to travel and that is when I noticed that I had lost my doses of lyrium in the battle. We had been running low at Ostagar and I had planned to resupply with the Chantry in Gwaren, but as you know we never made it…that far. I buried the men as best as I was able." Cullen felt sick. His stomach rolled at how very wrong all of this seemed now. Everything had seemed sordid from the moment he stepped into this room and now he wondered if the woman before him was not the cause. His vision had swam for a moment under the strain of his repulsion. "I was attempting to take the Mage Amell back to Lothering when I suffered from the loss of my doses."

"What do you remember of you time in Lyrium withdrawal?" The question, though stated innocently enough, held all the poise of a knife at his throat and Cullen sought his words carefully.

"There are only snippets of travel and conversations I am not sure actually happened" His voice was rendered horse with anguish. "And pain. I remember the pain."

Silence was all around him. The Grand Cleric made neither move nor sound. He did not even feel the warm of the candles at his back or even the sound of his own breathing. His heart kept a steady vigil of the passing time as he awaited the next question, the next poisonous lie that would roll of his lips to the Grand Cleric of all people.

"Templar Cullen." Her voice broached no argument. "You have served the Chantry, and I, as faithfully as I have ever born witness too." He had flinched internally at the praise feeling lower than he ever had before. "You are a pillar of strength to all that follow you. However, your inability to pull power from lyrium, has placed you in a very unusual position." Warmth had faded from her voice to be replaced with cool detachment. "I'm afraid that you will be unable to fulfill your duties as you are. Therefore I am left with no choice but to retire you from the ranks of the Templar."

He was frozen inside as his ears rang with her declaration. "Your holiness." He beseeched uncertainly. "This life is all I have ever known. The Chantry is all I have ever known." Hysteria colored his words slightly and the woman before him seemed unmoved.

"Be that as it may, you are of no use to the Chantry as a Templar. Let us be honest, Ser Cullen, you are unfit for the title if you cannot use lyrium." Her long and boney fingers tapped thoughtfully at her sagging chin and those watery blue eyes he had suddenly come to despise gazed at him contemplatively. "However, I suppose, if you still wish to have a place inside the Chantry, I do believe that you might possess sufficient skill for a Chanter."

Years of blood and death had been spent in service of this holy order of Andraste. He had spent years toiling and humbling himself to serve others in the name of the Maker only to be cast out like a leper. The Grand Cleric was not even aware of what had passed between him and the Mage Amell and they would reduce him so quickly…to a chanter? Everything he had ever sacrificed seemed so pointless to the man that he nearly spat in distaste. The hypocrisy of it all, the insult, made him numb to the world outside his anger and fear. He had nowhere to go. His whole life had been built around the structure of his faith and now he was being cast from it without thought. His feelings fluctuated from despair to remorse; he had the keen notion that he should have followed Mage Amell into the wilds that night. However, thinking of her only brought a fresh stab of sorrow to an already terrifying situation. The pious swordsman knew a moment of true hopelessness standing before the finery of the Grand Cleric, whose hair was riddled with gems that twinkled at him mockingly. _Is this the reason that I gave up everything?_

OoOoOo

She wove nimbly through the crowd that ebbed and flowed around her without pause. This place was exceedingly deadly, and she knew that fact well. Solona had always been inclined to remembering lessons learned well. Since her escape from the Wilds, she had spent weeks foraging off the land and avoiding her Chantry hunters which had come and scoured the countryside like a Mabari searching for a treat it had been denied. She had been marked with good fortune that they seemed to be only intent on spotting her through her phylactery alone. It had glowed a dazzling and enticing shade of sage as she had watched with baited breath from behind the cracked trunk of a Wilds tree. Her hand trembled as it gripped the bark splintering part of it into the tender flesh of her fingers.

It had been then that she had learned that while a phylactery would allow them to know when she was near, it would not in fact give her exact location. Solona stepped cautiously backward to test the distance by which her own blood would betray her. Hazel eyes contemplated the gap between her and the phylactery with mute fascination as she noticed the glow dimmed and then died completely. She winced at the string of curses that filled the air from the righteous lips of her newest hunters. Perhaps there had been a quarter mile between them she graciously allowed for more as her body crept with cat like stealth through the brightened forest trees. Her breathing hitched at each crunching of a leaf and snapping of a twig, however the canopy of leaves above her cried out with life in the form of eager chirping from birds. She knew the majority of her noise would be covered by the cursing of the Templar and the wildlife permeating the otherwise foreboding Wilds.

Darting much like a scared animal, she had whipped past brambles that stung her skin but Solona was heedless to it all. Her ears had echoed with the thunderous cries of her breathing and the snapping of twigs beneath her feet. The young mage had slunk across the edges of the Wilds to venture further north than her original exit had allotted. Since the first rays had caressed her skin from the liberating light of the Sun, Solona had been forced to avoid almost all human or elven contact. Her hair was tangled and bits of debris clung to the butchered locks for succor. Solona had been forced to stomach the bitter stench of her own body for days before a secluded enough stream had finally given her a modicum of dignity back and she had taken it readily. Her skin had carried the sensation of being burned by the icy chill of the water and she had enjoyed the lingering numbness. She had set forth with wide eyes and a seemingly ever empty stomach. Food had been hard to come by and her rations had dwindled dangerously low. The young mage had picked clean a few trees of tiny but precious life sustaining nuts and the few wild roots that grew on the out cropping of unidentified trees sustained her.

She was a patient mage, but that appeared to garner her no quarter in trying to dodge her chantry hunters. Though she had not seen them recently, she could still feel their swords swinging above her head in terrifying surrealism. Hunger and desperation had her wandering nearly aimlessly until she had been brought back to her senses outside of the north end of the Brecillian forest. The young woman was neatly pressed into a corner for she could not continue to wander like a vagabond without someone taking notice. Her lack of planning had ended with her backed up to only one metropolitan source of gaining more supplies and potentially another beast of burden. Solona hated that large cities were a draw for most apostates and therefore they were often heavily guarded, but she had little recourse and perhaps she would be able to alter her location by gaining passage across the waking sea. Reaffirmed, Solona ventured from the refuge of the Brecillian forest for a brief sojourn through the main gates of Denerim with a dwarven merchant and his family. They had been perfectly content to take her on as a passenger for the few remaining coins stolen from the bounty of the highwaymen she had slain. She reflected that they had been a wealth of information, the head of the family in particular. A merchant was an invaluable resource in the hands of a patient mage. Her skills at blending in had become beyond measurable with the dwarven family. She had encountered unusual clashes in body languages from the culture stand point of the dwarves and if she had been given more time, Solona would have adored the chance to study their culture more in depth. The family had brought her to the insides of the merchant district before heading off to their own pursuits. This had lead her full circle to her present predicament of avoiding Templars in a city seemingly full of them where she had come in hopes of doubling back on her tracks through Highever and perhaps even taken a prolonged route back to Gwarem the waking sea forgotten for its over complexity.

She had to bide her time.

Solona had to grant that Templars for all of their ferocity where noticeable and tact was not their strong suit. Their gleaming armor made them easy to spot over the din that accompanied the shouts of so many individuals when the clanking of their armor could not be heard for the noise. Solona found the Templars to be rude and rather haughty whenever the opportunity afforded itself to them. It was curious to her that so many wished to place on such an armor of servitude, when it did not truly garner them anything in return. It irked her to lengths greater than the whole of Fereldan on how foolish people must be in order to willingly sacrifice freedom; a commodity any mage would gladly kill for.

She ignored the scent of fresh baking to her left as she sidestepped a child playing with wooden puppets. Solona pulled at a loose strand in her worse for wear robe and stopped short as her ordinary hazel eyes captured a much dreamed over sight. Her magic twittered with excitement and fear as she spotted a familiar outline making its way through the market with three other Templars. Solona tried to subdued the faintness that overtook her continence. She was jarred by the force of a washer woman colliding with her back. The young mage numbly apologized before falling back into the slim shadows that high noon brought.

It was never her intention to see him again. In truth she understood that the chances of ever laying eyes upon him again were much smaller than slim and she marveled at how luck seemed to be against her. Her eyes traced over his form with the hunger only contained by a lover as she watched him march into a grandiose building she had not recognized. She noticed that he looked tense, and drawn. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears. _He was not supposed to be here. _She thought frantically and logically she understood that she had not actually planned where he would go or what would become of him. Her magic coiled low in her stomach and the song was one of restrained joy at his visage. With a large amount of reserve she promised herself she would only stay long enough to see him pass through the doors once more and then she would steal away from him again like a thief to the blackest parts of the night. Solona stood and waited in the tiny corner of the shadows by the washing woman's hut and the baker. She would not have moved if the very Maker had come down and ordered her. Hazel eyes locked on the door he had disappeared behind with patience and a faint smile. She would move tem only on occasion to make sure that an unknown threat was not advancing upon her, but otherwise she stood in silent vigil.

She had to bide her time.


	24. Chapter 24

_**My thanks to all those that read and especially you precious ones that reviewed! I hope that this chapter can take us to borderline angst…although I am not entirely certain we have not been there already, but semantics! Also please feel free to tell me what you like or do not like, I gladly accept all forms of comments excepting those that cross the bounds into vulgarity or curse words.**_

**I own nothing; curse you Bioware for once again denying me Cullen as a romance option! Rated M. Enjoy.**

**Also… Gotten bitten by the writing bug and this is your two more chapter warning (not counting this one) until the end of the story!**

OoOoOo

Ordinarily patience had always been earmarked as her greatest virtue, and curiosity was by and large her greatest vice; therefore it should have come as no surprise to Solona that she had once more landed herself into a self-tightening noose of her own making. However, as her damp fingers, slick from worry and excitement, gripped the side of the bakery and the soft scent of freshly made dough wafted through her nose; she had been shocked to see her former lover walking back out of what she had come to realize was the Chantry with the darkest scowl she had ever seen gracing his features. The thin hairs on the back of her next tickled when they had rose in mute apprehension toward the demeanor he portrayed. In short, she had been terribly perplexed and fretful over what had caused such as perfunctory transformation. _Did something happen?_ She wondered idly as her stiff and tingling feet were roused from their immobile state to drift the back alleyways as she surreptitiously watched the man.

Her quotidian hazel eyes appraised him with all the tenderness she felt inside but the emotionally stunted woman she had grown into under the overbearing gazes of the Circle would not allow her to express. She had taken care to check every single detail about the man she had come to nearly worship with both relief and displeasure in equal measure. His cheeks had become gaunt and his face looked as lively as a week old corpse and she had been struck by what a drastic change had been brought about him. She had never seen him so defeated before in her time with him. Solona reflected that even when the bleakest parts of their journey had robbed them of sustenance or hope; that even in the throes of absolute despair and misery Templar Cullen had never failed to stand his ground.

Solona skittered coltishly around people that passed by her with suspicious eyes and nervous facial twitches with an air of perdu that scattered the strangers like bits of flotsam. Uneven brown hair gently moved with each unwavering step while her eyes continued to trace over the invalidated man. However, it felt to the apostate that she was seeing a different person entirely. Gone were the usual stamps about his eyes that marked the purest form of determination and any good humor had long since left his mouth. She had mourned briefly for the loss of his smile and vehemently wanted to know what had caused such a drastic change in the otherwise imperturbable man. Her heart clenched tightly in her chest with so much force it had felt for a few sparse heartbeats that someone had taken their hand and pushed firmly against her ribs in order to suffocate the very breath from her.

Why did all common sense flee her whenever she saw him?

Solona blew a tuff of her erratically cut hair out of her eyes with resignation. The humorless mirth that welled within her was bitter bile that had clawed at the back of her throat. She understood that her reservations where this man was concerned always had overwhelmed her more organized thoughts and she had not expected to walk away from this unscathed. _Or had I?_ The young mage debated with her previously incorrect assumptions that perhaps she knew everything there was to know. She found that it had been simpler back in the preceding days where she had firmly believed that a strong plan could have seen her through any sort of obstacle. Yet, she had failed to take into account the treacherous nature of the human heart.

A similar defeat shrouded Solona as she wove her way through the less reputable people of the city back alleyways. In a sense it was a philosophic situation she had willingly chosen to enter into even if she could no longer tell apart the blurring lines of wrong and right. Yet, when her thoughts strayed as to her reasons for jeopardizing herself once more, Solona already knew that answer and the wealth of emotions that flowed so freely from her confounded heart pained her. She had cared for him far more than she should and it had made her into the very sort of cretin she had always despised.

Why did all common sense flee her whenever she saw him?

_This is illogical! This is sheer buffoonery and what I should be doing is leaving this Maker-Forsaken place and looking for a home._ Solona's feet had stopped short of the large pile of refuse that she had not noticed until a heartbeat ago the cloying scent of wet dog and refuse did nothing for her emotional state. _A home_. She had thought sadly and with a touch of wistfulness that reduced her to eyes full of moisture of unshed sentiment. The young woman had often dreamed of a home. She had covetously dreamed of the very nearly magical place where one could set down roots and grow a bountiful harvest of memories. An apostate, what she had waywardly chosen to become, did not have a place to stop and rest their burdens or even to create a new life. Everything she had sacrificed, a family, a love, and potential children were all within her grasp again and she loathed her taciturn nature for letting her compromise such a priceless opportunity.

Solona ruefully cast a look around the squalor that surrounded her and the filth that plagued the street with great distaste. Was a home, a life, not the very reason she had left the tower? Absently she nodded to herself as her thoughts whirled with the nameless faces of dream-forged children and family. She tilted her head slightly to the coolness of the unforgiving stone building to her left side and for the first time in a long time allowed herself to become lost in the land of what could be. Solona closed her eyes softly and her heart thudded loudly in her ears with the same raging force of a maelstrom.

Shaking hands pressed themselves to her suddenly pallid face and Solona was forced to bite her lip to keep from whimpering. _I am being reckless again. What is wrong with me? How many mages would not kill to be in my shoes? A true chance at a life and I am throwing it away for some girlish fancy over…a Templar!_ However, if she were wholly honest with herself, which she had always been inclined to do; it was not a girlish fancy but a love as beautiful and frail as a midnight blooming rose. Her affection for him was an enigma born of dire circumstance and the whims of fate. Though she berated herself once more for her utter foolishness and lack of restraint, the depths of her magic warbled a vibrato song at the confliction its mistress housed. Hurriedly, Solona tampered down her song as quickly as was possible given the circumstances. Fear etched a path into her eyes and she darted her gaze around. No soul in the alleyway seemed to notice or care and she mentally breathed a sigh of stark relief. She roused her thoughts from their path and decided firmly that it was a fool's errand to believe that there could be anything between the two of them. He was a Templar and she was a mage. _Never mind an apostate with the deaths of several men on her hands_. She had thought smarmily that being away from him would have made the swirl of foreign feelings much easy on her, but things had only become more entangled.

Her impassionate face, once schooled back into its frosty mask of indifference, tilted upward and she sought to find his outline once more only to realize that during her mental duress she had lost sight of him. A firm jolt deep in her belly signaled the deep and keen longing she felt whenever she was bereft of him. However, she could no longer delay her course of action. Trailing after him had not been planned and she knew he was safe now; the young woman knew he was where he belonged and she had to respect that. Solona squared her shoulders and resolutely turned around the way she had come. It had not been an easy choice to make, but the surfacing of tedious guilt and logic had been a pull so strong that it overshadowed her want to be by her Hunter's side. Her willowy figure had cast one last long look in the direction of where the part of her heart that walked about outside her body had disappeared before resolutely but not without deep sorrow leaving it behind.

OoOoOo

Cullen had never been much of a drinking man. He had never been one to slip into his cups, but after the ordeal he had just been through, the man had found his feet being drawn to the tavern. There had been a cold sort of comfort that washed over him at his release. He had begun to question too much a very integral part of himself. It had gone against his nature in so many respects to feel what he had experienced with Mage Amell and the blasphemous condemnations his rebellious spirit had directed toward the Chantry as a whole. The clinking of beer steins and the crass calls of whores and servers alike assaulted his ears with all the subtlety of an arch demon. He was so numb to the outside world that he had come to drink the numbness away. The irony of the thought had not been lost upon him, yet he could not have brought himself to give much consideration for anything at the moment. Some part of him felt that if he could just feel something after this, anything would have done really, then perhaps there was a chance for him after all.

Amber orbs gazed without feeling at the people all as lost as he was sitting in the dingy lights of the tavern with the stench of alcohol permeating every corner of the room. The breath of the people were saturated with wine and ale. He blinked twice to clear the sting out of his eyes as the homely face of the serving wench, whose overly voluptuous figure barred the walk way for several patrons, came into view.

"What'll it be?" Her voice had been harsh and filled with too much husk for his liking and Cullen blanched at the number of faces that turned his direction to watch a Templar, _former Templar_ his mind hissed, drink with the common folk.

"Uh…What do you have?" Cullen cleared his throat and his years of arduous training seeped into his voice. The woman startled at the mercurial change and her manner became far more respectful than it previously been.

"Seven types of ale, four types of wine, and three types of brandy." The server owlishly blinked at him with the first strings of fear filling her tone.

"Just give me the strongest." He mumbled and the woman quickly disappeared from view. Cullen felt as if his armor was too much. The accusing and overly curious eyes of strangers rankled him more viciously than heckling a wild mabari. Cullen remembered why it was that he was here when the stares became unbearable as he eagerly waited for the server to return. He felt trapped and without anywhere to go. He had no one to turn too. There was not a single person in this world that claimed a kinship to him and his connections through the Chantry had been all but cut off.

To him it had all suddenly become so very bleak. The world around him held no color; everything was a mass of grey and black. There was no comforting verse to tell himself to keep the worst of the sorrow at bay or kind words to listen to even if half-heartedly. He no longer had the trustworthy hearts of his brethren to rely upon, not benefits that came from his station. Cullen knew he had been one of the best hunters in all of Thedas. He had held a tenacity that placed any other to shame and the Chant had been so interwoven into the entire manifestation of his being that he was left truly lost in a void of a waking nightmare.

_Where does a wandering soul go when it has nowhere to wander?_ He wondered brightly as the homely wench who smelt of stale hops and barley wandered back his way with a large mug in hand of some foul brew he wanted to cling only for the necessary liquid courage. Truly, for the first time in his seemingly long life he was sans any form of purpose or action. The bitter liquid burned a cool trail down his throat mercilessly and he was thankful for the brief stab of pain that had come with it. Pain was far more preferable to feeling absolutely nothing at all. He was angry, and he knew that well. How quickly he had been cast to the way side for simply being different from the men around him? Was this what Amell had felt like when she had been safely secured away in the Circle?

Heartache is a cruel and formidable mistress and Cullen was just starting to reap the harvest of her pique. He stared down at the worn table stained with nameless dark splotches and he felt wholly alone. Amber eyes closed momentarily and he reach his energy out in a frail and trembling act of solace to gently flick across the solitary lock of her plain brown hair. Unexplored notions of searching for her once more floated to the forefront of his mind with increasing urgency. For it was a simple fact that he literally had nothing else to lose, so the man pondered sweetly if this was not a blessing in disguise. He understood that there could have been nothing for them had he remained within the noble ranks of the Templar. It was strange to be freed from his vows. There was nothing now to stop him from taking carnal pleasures from a brothel, gambling, or even becoming a sword for hire. Cullen knew that there were still consequences for every action, but lacking the formidable backing of the Chantry made him simply another man among the millions.

The growing clamors of obnoxious patrons grated on his ears and Cullen mutely gulped down his ale as his senses muddled themselves to the aching pain residing deep within his soul. His mind though fully healed as the magi had told him had changed somehow. He could not have denied that he was slightly apprehensive about such a change but for all of his sincere contemplation, he still felt as if he were completely his own. After being forced to cope with strange inklings and urges for the duration of a few weeks the former Templar found that he seemed to process everything in an opposite manner than before. He knew that his views on apostates no longer held the same distinction of being only one step away from an abomination. Cullen understood that he still had a firm grasp on what was morally and ethically acceptable even if he was still uncertain as to where his night with the Mage Amell fell.

One tankard became five as the night sky shone brightly with stars that danced while he had sat at well-worn table and pondered over where the next step in a seemingly unending road of darkness would take him.

OoOoOo

"Make sure the linens are cleaned and out to dry on the line before supper. I won't cover for you again should the mistress find out." The firm tone of an elderly woman waving a pot filled with steaming contents filled the tiny kitchen that housed only the pair of females and one decidedly deceased chicken.

The off-white scrap of cloth that covered Solona's hair caused her scalp to itch every moment she had ever worn it. She gazed down at hands that now bore the signs of hard labor with calluses that covered once smooth palms. The young mage had been fortunate to land herself a position of employment for a local merchant of decent means. The scent of lye was still thick in the air and she had grown accustomed to no longer gagging reflexively at the stinging aroma. The large metal stew pot that was currently being used for the laundry bubbled away and the ordinary young woman snatched up a long wooden stirring stick to keep the cloth from burning on the sides were intense heat was capable of anything even in water. Her back groaned in protest as she had forcefully agitated the clothing to help dissolve any of the remaining dirt that might still have clung to the garments.

"Yes Ma'am" Her voice was soft and tired, one of the few times she was without guile around this mundane existence. It had taken her four months to reach Gwaren where she had stayed on the outskirts of the city in order to listen to the idle gossip that merchants or servants dropped like precious gems for her to pluck up at her leisure. Most of her coin had been used to sustain herself on the journey and for a few decent meals, though she was noticeably thinner by the time the woman with her in the kitchen had hinted at a new scullery maid being needed by an up and coming merchant. Solona had watched the woman for three days prior to their initial meeting where acting demure and respectful had garnered her the position readily. Their meeting had been the last time Solona had been forced to bath in the icy chill of the half-frozen river.

The apostate had been fortunate to avoid most travelers on the roads during the winter months that had slowed her progress considerably. She had been forced to take refuge within the town of Lothering scraping by doing odd jobs for the lay sisters and the like. It had been a very trying time on her nerves as the Templars of the town had seemed to cluster in every corner that she had been forced to visit. Still she had remained undiscovered through sheer cleverness and the occasional falsehood. When she had started under the tutelage of Madam Ward, she had been surprised at what a wallop such a small and frail looking woman could pack into a single slap. Though the abuse was uncalled for, Solona grit her teeth and willingly took the smacks whenever she made a mistake, which had not occurred very often.

She also had been given ample reason to be wary of her otherwise non-descript employer. His eyes always lingered just a tad too long on her form, but Solona had taken great pains to never be left in a room alone with him, nor encourage his wandering nature. The boiling hot water made her wince as she began to wring out the clothing over the pot after extracting it with the help of the elongated stick. She was thankful for the earned toughness to her hands as she twisted and wrung the wet fabric, her thoughts elsewhere as they usually were while she was engaged in menial labor. A wicker basket that had lain discarded at her feet found use as she dropped the still steaming cloth into it with precision and without artifice. The course fabric of her dress had become damp with water and sweat from exertion, but Solona had grown used to the uncomfortable scratchiness of her garments. Minuets ticked slowly by as she had finished her task and set about carrying the heavy load to the small stretch of yard that belonged to the estate. She watched the clothing lines as they had swayed gently in the afternoon breeze.

Freedom had been both strange and wonderful for Solona. She had been unsure at first how to go about befriending people when there was not an ultimate goal in mind, but she had been rewarded for her continued efforts with a woman only two years her senior that worked for an affluent armorer. Their relationship had been tentative at it's grandest, but Solona claimed it happily. The seasons had come and gone twice over before she had truly settled in. Prior to that Solona had found herself a drift in a sea of cohesion she had never known existed. She had forgotten the feel of snow on her skin, or the taste of a fresh raspberry, and the exhaustion that came from a day of back-breaking labor. The young woman hummed softly the tune of her magic without tapping into the now forbidden power. For two years and four months she had been blessed not to require the use of her Maker-given talent.

Her fingers had stilled over pinning the last of the garments to the line as the sobering numbers struck her core. _Two years, four months, and 16 days since I saw him last._ Her eyes turned downcast to the wicker basket that tipped slightly at the loss of its burden and the scent of lye that mixed in with the wildness of the summer wind. Her simple grey dress had been caught by the playful wind and it ruffled at her ankles while Solona gazed over the lines of clothes to the darkening sky. She remembered the few precious afternoons like this one where he had been at her side caught within the staggering grip of insanity. Her vision swam with unshed tears of regret and of a sorrow so deep that even time had not touched it with a healing hand. She wrapped her arms around her average frame as she recollected the best moments in her bittersweet time with her lost lover.

"Elaine!" The shrill voice of Madam Ward cut through the daydreams filled with passion and heat. Solona turned her head to the right and peered over her shoulder and had spotted the woman standing in the doorway with a disapproving frown. "Get your head out of the clouds you foolish girl and get to work. The mistress will not stand having supper late." The scolding had not been anything new to her ears and the young mage nodded appealingly before walking briskly back into the stifling heat of the kitchen. "Honestly. What were you collecting wool out there for?" Stern brown eyes that had so often reminded Solona of fresh earth asked suspiciously.

"Nothing Ma'am." Solona dipped her head in subservience while she busied herself with the evening meal preparation. The sauce that had earlier been brandished at her had been pulled from the stove and sat cooling on the stone floor.

"Hmpf." The older woman had huffed in a manner that suggested she had clearly not been appeased. "Just stick to your chores."

"Yes Ma'am." Solona's face had pulled back into a flawless mask of apathy as she scrubbed clean and then cut the vegetables freshly bought from the market place only three candle marks away from the estate. Her eyes pursued the room with careful and cautious eyes only born by those who are afraid of being snatched away at any moment. Solona had spent a great deal of time trying to memorize every face in the city of Gwaren and with the exception of passersby, she was confident that she knew each visage. For that very reason she had not been startled by the face, but by the noise of footsteps that proceeded that face when her only acquaintance had stepped nervously into the servants entrance just inside the kitchen. Solona had winced internally at how a cramped and boiling hot space had become even smaller.

"Elaine!" The armor's servant Caitlin had greeted shyly and Solona had been forced to mold her features to reflect joy even though she felt nothing more that the barest pulls of acknowledgement.

"Caitlin, it is wonderful to see you again." Her ordinary hazel eyes had swiveled in the direction of Madam Ward whose continence had become even more dower than before. "We are about to serve supper, did you need something?" Her voice was polite but neither warm nor cold as she had stared expectantly at the jittering woman before her.

"Ah. No…well yes, actually." Solona would have quirked an eyebrow in mild confusion but she reminded herself sternly that 'Elaine' was an altogether agreeable girl who should not have a caustic bone in her body. "You see my Tim has come home for a bit and he needs to start plying a trade you see?" Solona nodded once and her doll like mask of civility never faltered. "I told him I would vouch for him to Master Alne and then he could be an armorer if he worked really hard." The young mage's fingers twitched uncomfortably at the moisture collecting in the other woman's eyes and her heart clenched at the sight of another in duress. "But Master Alne has already taken an apprentice just this past week and now my Tim has no way to provide a life for us, which means we cannot marry. So I was hoping that you or Madam Ward could talk to Master Pennok to see if he would be amiable to taking on Tim?"

She was never the type to meddle in the affairs of others and Solona had already decided that she would not risk pleading with her employer over a man she had never met. The possible things she had already deduced her lecherous employer might want in return for such a boon caused a shiver of revulsion to spike through her spine as surely as the tip of any sword. She swallowed once to clear her thoughts and the rebuttal bloomed on the tip of her tongue. "I'm so sorry Caitlin, I cannot do that."

She watched as shock and hurt diffused through the features of the only person she might have titled friend when Madam Ward had decided to take that moment to praise her for such good sense. "A smart one you are Elaine. Caitlin dear, you know it's not a servants place to ask things of their betters. What has come over you girl? Where is your sense? You tell that lay about man of yours that he had best go find himself someone to train under and right fast if he thinks to take you to wed." A wave of a frail hand sent the unexpected visitor away while Solona grieved behind the lifeless face of the stranger she had made herself into.

"All that over some man." Solona watched morosely as Madam Ward prattled endlessly. "You mark my words Elaine, men are nothing but trouble for girls like you." The sentiment had not been lost on the young mage for she had known for two years, four months, and 16 days what havoc falling in love with a man could and had wreaked. "Whoever that new apprentice of Mister Alne is, lovely man by the by, is one lucky individual. Oh come now girl stop your wool gathering, if we do not hurry Mistress with have our pay." Solona felt more than saw the heavily laden plates that had been pushed eagerly into her hands and she turned automatically toward the door that lead to the modest dining room with blank expression.

"Yes Ma'am." She replied tonelessly as the scent of fresh bread wafted out of the kitchen and trailed in her wake.


	25. Chapter 25

**First of all let me thank you for those that have reviewed, it makes me feel very special. Also let me scold you gently for even dreaming that Cullen would be the blacksmith's apprentice, come on now :D**

**I own nothing, rated M.**

**OoOoOo**

Solona had to admit that Levi Dryden was an unusual man, for all of his seemingly innocuous appearance; who was rather staunch about familial views. The blonde haired man had made it a appoint to seek Solona out to greet her nearly every time that she made her way into the market place on the behest of her Master. Though her heart still mourned for the loss of her only true friendship in the entirety of her short life-span, the apostate refused to allow it to affect her outward mask of calm. The woman whom had prided herself on detachment was keenly aware that she had yet to truly feel anything since leaving her Templar charge behind. There was an astounding lack of closure that left the bitter taste of lost love and innocence on her lounge.

Upon the initial meeting between Solona and Mr. Dryden she had been cordial, if not a touch aloof. She was never inclined to give more or less than the situation warranted and it had been a forced meeting in no small part due to Mr. Alne. She had never before hated the booming way his voice carried rather noticeably down the dirt streets until her name had been shouted by the rather paunchy and tanned man. Solona had repressed a shiver of repulsion at brashness of the action and the imposed familiarity between them. However, Mr. Dryden, however, had much to recommend him including a good disposition and mild humor. Solona had disliked him instantly though her still torn heart had fluttered like a wounded bird in the wind at his slow smile. The smile had nearly been her undoing and Solona had fought to keep her emotions in check in front of the prying eyes of a stranger.

Yet, as much as Solona wished to move on she had found herself stuck in a wrenching moment caught between hope and disbelief. If there was a place beyond one single night of stolen pleasure, then Solona wanted nothing to do with it. She understood that there were things expected of her now in this social structure, but she could not have spared a moment for them. The women knew that it was normal for people to place the past firmly behind them and move on with the remainder of their years. However, Solona had spent countless nights gazing up at stars that reminded her or a better time wrapped in Cullen's arms and covered in his kisses. She had come to know as sure as the next heartbeat that would give her a moment longer in life; that she had stayed in the past with those memories.

How long had she been without him now? Her mind dully listed the answer off as if she had not been counting the days. _Two years, seven months, and twenty one days. _ Had she honestly kept track of each passing day? Well it had been hard for her not to count them in a similar fashion to how she had counted the days at confined behind the stone prison of the Circle Tower. She woke each day and counted the number off to herself with conviction as she forced weary limbs into motion from their rested state. Yet, sleep was often her worst enemy. In the Fade Solona was in greater danger than any other mortal that roamed Thedas. At night, in her dreams, the demons cajoled to her an promised empty lies that still caused her heart to throb with want. Every night they whispered of giving her the one things she truly wanted, and every night Solona had denied them quickly and without prolonged consideration.

The crueler ones had tried to take his form or face, but they had learned not to take such a foolish measure. Solona had never been one to show harsh temperament, but in the shifting skies of the Fade she had been furious enough to slay the one that had willfully worn her lover's face. She granted that it had been a weaker demon, one that had mistaken hot rage for mild irritation which had allotted Solona the upper hand in the swift blow.

She had often asked of herself if freedom had been worth the price she had paid. Most mornings Solona had been ready to answer to the positive, but some days, when the looming gray clouds selfishly stole the sun; Solona never regretted anything more than leaving his side. Eyes that had been softened by the sweet lull of affection closed against the first shining rays of sun that heralded the coming dawn. Her mind traced back to the lust in his eyes when he spoke her name and the way he had crushed her against him in passion. Her heart tripled its beat at the recollection of his touch as it had traced across her body conqueringly and the heat that such touches had brought with them. Her nerves tingled to alertness and a rush of warmth pooled between her thighs.

Her thin fingers sought to recreate the weight of his as she skimmed hers down the length of her stomach to tease lightly at the apex of her womanhood. Solona stifled a low gasp as her self-gratification began in earnest. The woman pictured him above her, with that same possessive and nearly feral gleam to his eyes. She could have sworn she heard the exact pitch of his groans in her ear. Her body had twisted and coiled as the heights of pleasure were in her reach. Her frantic thoughts which had been muddled with unadulterated rapture grasped tightly at one word with sheer exuberance. '_Cullen'._ Her mind called out softly, but her throat refused to betray her more sinful urges to any possible attentive ears.

Solona had blessed her fair fortune when the rapping of aged knuckles echoed on the small door that separated her meager bed space form the interior of the House's kitchen.

"I am awake." She called with her voice slightly breathless as Solona manipulated it to sound more as if she had just awoken from sleep than brought herself to a peak of pleasure.

"Then by the Maker, get a move on girl." The less than friendly tone of Madam Ward pierced into the small and still room.

"Yes Ma'am." Solona dearly wished that she had been given a few breaths longer to savor the fleeting bliss that the memories of him occasionally brought. Her ordinary hazel eyes flicked once toward the door with a childish petulance at having to leave her private sanctuary. The tiny bed space was her only safe harbor from the stormy days of pretending to be someone else. It had been very taxing on her inner reserves to deny all that she was and take up the mantle of someone her mind had fabricated into existence.

Turning away from even the acknowledgement of who she had been churned into a sour sort of remorse that she felt to the soles of her feet. Solona often consoled herself that adaptability was all that truly mattered in that regard. She could not have given up trying to create this new life for it would have made a mockery of all she had been through. It would have been a slap in the face to all she had placed others through and Solona could not have handled such a hefty regret. A shake of her head heralded the end of such a wistful line of thought as she threw the covers off of her measly mattress to get ready for tasks ominously laying a head.

By the time the sun had journeyed halfway through the sky, Solona had counted every single item in the kitchen at least twice. Her thoughts raced and slowed at the same time with tedious boredom. Madam Ward seemed not to have noticed, however, Solona could not stop the idle imaginings of what the said woman would look like with her hair spiked from a delightful chain lightening spell. Solona laughed quietly in the solitude of her own musings. Then those rebellious imaginings changed to wondering what their 'generous' Master might look with his beard set a flame as she danced merrily around him. The apostate knew she would never attempt such a thing in person, but tedium lead her to strange places and there were moments she understood that Cullen had not been the only one changed when two human lives intertwined so deeply.

"Are you wool gathering again?" Sharp and beady eyes glanced at her laced with ill-concealed suspicion.

"No Ma'am." The immediate and cool response slipped past her lips without preamble.

There was a noise of disbelief and Solona nearly snorted her own contempt for the woman. "Seems I need to put you to good use." The woman all but growled out. "We need more fish for supper, go down to the market and get me one whole salmon." The stout woman commanded thoughtlessly. Her eyes widened and Solona wondered at the cause when Madam Ward had spoken again. "Oh and fetch more taper candles from the beekeeper or The Master and Mistress won't even be able to see their plates."

"I have never been to the beekeeper before." She tilted her head slightly and gazed back at Madam Ward. "Where is it.?" She had previously only been asked to do small tasks around the house and market place. Normally, Madam Ward had reserved any extravagant or slightly costly purchases to herself, but Solona was up for any task that allowed her some reprieve.

"IT's on the outskirts of the city, if you take the path to the right once you reach Pal'Mirth cross. Do you know where that is?" Solona nodded readily, the strange soft elation that came from escaping the dower woman came to her once more as the coins needed for purchasing the items was laid into her waiting palm. "Good. Once you reach the flower field you cannot miss it. Be quick."

The clinking of the metal as the coins bounced together while she closed her hand tightly into a fist calmed her slightly. She had never been one to really immerse herself with the people outside of the tower. Even two years after her escape, she was still as social awkward and isolated as one could imagine. Solona preferred to cling to the illusion that being more graceful in a social setting would come to her one day. She refused to lie to herself, but it was more of a prediction than a lie she rationalized just last week.

Solona left urgently, her footsteps slightly hurried to travel as far away from her job as humanly possible and still not lessen the amount of time she was free. Her plain brown hair was warmed slightly by the glorious sun and Solona allowed a small smile to paint her lips as she continued down the road toward the beekeeper, it was closer than the market place where she would acquire the salmon. Her magic twittered a hum of contentment that Solona tampered down quickly but let the song repeat softly in her mind. The salty scent of the ocean wafted up her nostrils as she inhaled greedily at the open air that further served to lift her confined spirits.

Her eyes took in all the scenery around her as steady steps beat the path to the right that cut through a hill where a large field of flowers and the beekeeper resided. Solona smelt the heavy floral perfume before she saw the flowers. She had also heard the low hum of bees as they flew about the brightened patch of earth before she saw them. The simple joy of being outside of the tower ebbed into her heart once more. It had been many years since she had seen such a large array of Maker-made beauty. Her hazel eyes scanned the horizon until they had come to rest on a small but well-built home. '_That must be the beekeeper's home then.'_ She thought to herself as she had edged on the outrebounds of the field. She was aware that aggravating bees was not the best way to avoid being stung and chose instead to avoid them all together. She caught sight of bee-skep, the housing unit for where the bees made their honey combs, off to the left of the field. Solona had been able to see eight or nine skeps standing proudly amongst the earthly glory. She could not tell the wood they were woven out of, she would have been willing to contemplate willow judging by the numerous trees in the area, and the bases held a clay mixture that prevented the honey from being pilfered by mice or other rodents. She also spied a workshop that had been previously hidden by the home until she had moved away from the center line of sight.

Her foot caught in a stray rut in the ground and Solona stumbled forward only to land harshly against the compacted dirt. A startle yelp tore from her throat, followed by a groan as she landed on her hands and knees. Slightly dazed but unharmed, she moved to stand while she brushed off the clumps of earth that clung to her skirt. She muttered under her breath at the stroke of foul luck she had and continued forward, the small house in her sights like a rare prize. She curled her hand to knock firmly on the door. Solona waited silently as she took a moment to look back at the plethora of colored flowers. She heard the dull thuds of moving booted feet as the door swung open and Solona turned her attention to the door.

Any words she had been prepared to say died swiftly in her suddenly parched throat as she gazed up into familiar amber orbs that had been just as startled as her own.

OoOoOo

It had been the knock at his door that pulled him from his now cooling lunch. Cullen cursed slightly under his breath as he moved from his hand-made table with its lone chair to slake his curiosity of who would be knocking at his door. He had settled in Gwaren a little over a year ago with the savings he had accumulated from being a hired sword for a brief period of time in Redcliffe. The days had been grueling and the nights bordering on a new form of madness. The funds the Chantry had relinquished to him had been barely enough to pay for his indulgence of alcoholic spirits. The pitiful amount that he had scrounged over the years, even though his living had been very conservative, had been enough to get him to RedCliffe where he had been fortunate enough to be called upon for his sword skill. How the Blackstone Irregulars had known about him, Cullen had never bothered to ask, but he had accepted jobs for coin to eek out a living.

He had spent a year and one-half in servitude to the Irregulars, he had achieved a fair ranking within the order, but Cullen would have been remiss in his duties if he had continued to follow down that path. His morals had begun to rear up again and his heart had mended to the cruel way in which he had been abandoned by his faith. Cullen had been marked by his time physically for the new scars that were etched into his arms and torso from men who had fought valiantly. Life had taught him a harsher lesson about the frailties of human life.

He had searched for her everywhere he went. It had been a vain hope that she might just be in the next town, or on the caravan past where he was going, but Cullen had never been able to quell that rise of warm affection that came unbidden to his chest whenever he thought about the most cunning mage in all of Thedas. The small lock of hair, which would have been meaningless to anyone else, had been lost in a more heated struggle and Cullen had been at a loss without it. It would have been the gravest sort of sin for him to have lied about thinking about her everywhere he went, or that he did not occasionally see her face on women that passed by him that carried themselves the same way or had some of her more prominent features.

Therefore, when he had opened the door to see a lithe woman standing there he had at first not been surprised. However, when that plain brown hair that obscured her side profile moved as she had turned to face him, Cullen felt as if his very breath had been sucked out of his lungs by an unknown power. For a single moment in time he had feared that she was a trick of his mind, but the obvious shock that had been placed on her features and the startled look in her average hazel eyes had told him the truth. Cullen gaped for a full heartbeat as the thundering truth rampaged like a stampede through his thoughts. _Solona_. He understood that she was before him, very much alive and he noted that her hair had grown longer. _Then again, it has been almost three years._ He amended quickly.

He watched as she stared at him aghast for a few more tense moments and he valiantly attempted to say something, anything, to break the petrifying silence.

"Do you have taper candles?" He watched as the mage that had haunted his dreams for years lowered her eyes to stare at his boots. Her question had caught him off guard. He was suddenly aware of the anger that coursed through his veins at the first words she had spoken to him since she had left. '_Do I have any bloody candles?'_ He seethed to his inner wounds at the familiarity of her bland tone. Still, joy tinged at the edges of anger and slowly seeped the building force of ire away.

"Yes." He responded more out of habit than thought and he watched her peek up at him from those damn long eyelashes. Cullen tried to ignore the welling of something far more primitive that swirled within him at seeing her again. His energy snaked out quickly, like an animal poised to strike, and searched intimately for her magic. He watched a small shudder wrack her frame and he swallowed the rising need to hold her.

"Of course you would." He heard her mumble. "You are a bee keeper after all, and a candle maker." He could practically see the embarrassment rolling off of her in waves and it squeezed painfully around his heart.

"That I am." He rumbled nearly beside himself on how to proceed. _'What do I even say in a moment like this?"_ His gentler side meekly protested against the cold civility that they were engaging in. It all felt wrong to Cullen. There should have been yelling, fighting, and biting remarks. Anything would have been preferable to this exchange that could have been made by strangers.

Truthfully, he wanted answers and he wanted desperately to know what it had meant to her. Did she ever think about him? Did she feel the same for him as he felt for her? Could there be something between them now? Cullen did not know but he longed to ask the words but his tongue would not obey his brains to bare life to the words. His heart had been beating so hard that it hurt like a physical blow in his chest as he stared at the fidgeting form of an otherwise unshakable woman.

"How have you been?" He watched her lift her face back to him and the look of longing that mirrored his own caused something that had been tightly coiled inside of him to snap and Cullen reached for her. His hand clamped tightly around her wrist and he pulled hard on her arm which caused Solona to stumble into his chest and Cullen embraced her for all that he was worth. He tucked his head over hers and inhaled the scent of her hair and listened to the twittering of her magic as sit sung of excitement and mingled fear. He only held tighter when he felt her arms twine around his back and she clung to him as if she would never see him again.

Suddenly the world made sense again; for it had not made sense for a single moment that he had been away from her.

Then holding her simply had not been enough. He tilted her head in order to press his lips to hers. His tongue instantly sought to plunder the soft and moist cavern of her mouth. For Cullen, it felt as if they were back in that tent at Ostagar with her a walking temptation in his arms and mind. Energy and magic merged and pulled away in time with the sensual war their tongues raged against one another. His body came to life despite the feeling that his brain was no longer able to function and Cullen found himself pulling her into the house. The sounds of her moans was the most tender music to his ears and the harsh panting that filled the space between them only served to inflame his lust.

Cullen turned to block Solona from fleeing should she regain her senses and pushed her gently into the adjoining room. The woman gasped as her knees buckled against the immovable bed and she sat down heavily, already her arms had stretched forward to reach for him again. The want and love shining in her eyes caused Cullen to kick the door closed behind them. He had seen all he needed to know in those few seconds where his lips had left hers..

The sound of the door slamming shut caused her to jolt and Cullen could see the reason flooding back into her face. He growled lowly in frustration. He had not wanted either of them to think, or to reason just yet.

"Perhaps we should discuss this." Her voice had been raspy and her eyes had glazed over slightly. Cullen shook his head decisively.

:"After." He huskily had pleaded of her. "We can talk after."

He watched the emotions flicker across her face as she nodded quickly and Cullen strode to her. His hands touched every part of her and he marled at her softness once more. His memories of her facial expressions and her sounds paled in comparison to the sensation of having her in his arms again. He was a storm out of control. All of his pent up feelings were exacted out in touch and caress. To him she was everywhere; around him, beneath him, and her magic swirled inside of him as he reformed a connection that had been severed between them.

All thought forgotten in favor of the blissful surrender that indulgence could bring. He firmly believed that talking would wait until barriers that had been erected were stripped and he could feel her in his sould once more.


	26. Chapter 26

**Thank you all for reading and for your lovely reviews! Enjoy! I am very sad to see the story end, but I am glad you all saw it through to the end, despite the typos!**

_**Also I could not find Cullen's last name anywhere, so I took the voice actors last name.**_

**Rated M, I own nothing.**

OoOoOo

Cullen pressed his fingers under his chin while he sat and continued to watch Solona sleep heavily after their passionate exertions. It had occurred to him that perhaps, he should have woken her so that they could have already had their discussion. Yet, he had been loath to force such a meeting of the minds for fear of what it might bring in its wake. Twice already, he had pinched himself to assure the more fragile stings of his heart that she was real and very much in his bed. A warm sensation hovered sweetly over his thoughts and heart as he reflected that she belonged there. To him, it was as plain as day to see that she belonged in his bed; had always belonged there even when he had been far too stubborn to understand what it was about her that affected him so.

He realized in the few precious moments held tightly in her arms once more that he had loved her from the first time she had saved him in that hellish existence torn between blood magic wrought with strife. Though time had changed them both as he had noted while he had reverently played with her longer ordinary brown locks; they were still the same people emotionally that they had been in that deciding second in Ostagar when the world had made sense and then shattered in her wake. It had not escaped Cullen's noticed that despite her better intentions Solona Amell was a catalyst for a great many things in his life.

However, when he had been without her the world had held no vibrancy for him. Colors and sounds had bled into nothingness and the vortex of sorrow that comes with everyday survival. If he were still more devout in his beliefs, they had never quite recovered after the blow form the Chantry, then Cullen would have thought that it had been by the Maker's hand he had been guided down to Gwaren that day a year ago. To the formerly pious man, it could have been fate or coincidence but he did not wish to expend the energy required to think in circles.

Amber orbs watched her sleeping form with such a weight of love that had she been awake, Cullen knew Solona would have been struck by the blazing adoration laid bare in his gaze. He spared a glance out the window to see that dusk was already falling swiftly on the land. The sweet perfume of flowers wafting from the field below and Cullen could have remarked on what it felt like to experience true peace. Whatever little that he could offer her, he would. There was a fear of the unknown slinking around on the outskirts of his thoughts. He worried that what he had to give her would not be enough to make her stay. However, Cullen had already decided that she would never leave his side again.

Beekeeper Cullen was determined.

Images of what their life together could be rushed through his mind with a vengeance after having been denied for so very long. He could already see her caring after their first child, a boy with his red hair and her hazel eyes. Cullen glanced to the small kitchen and could very nearly see the ghostly outline of her form as she made preserves or dinner after he had come home from a long day at work. Even the imaginings brought him a great satisfaction. Affirmed in his desires Cullen rose from his lone chair and mentally reflected that he would need to make another tomorrow as he started for his study.

His boots thumped lightly on the wooden floor, but he saw that Solona had not stirred. His hands reached for a single leaf of parchment and Cullen searched about for his quill. It had occurred to him, on more than one occasion that perhaps he should have retained the lessons of organization from his time at the Chantry if nothing else. At first the haphazardness of his belongings had been a petulant way to strike back at his up brining and unfortunately they had declined out of a perverse sort of laziness that would have to be corrected. His shuffling of books and notes yielded one lone quill and Cullen dipped it into the nearby inkwell with precision as he penned out a short note to his beloved. Before he gathered his coat and headed out, Cullen made sure to light the candles in the main living area so that she would not be shrouded in darkness until he returned.

He had sworn long ago that Mage Amell would not escape him.

OoOoOo

Consciousness came in stages to the woman who desperately tried to nestle back into the soft blankets that covered her completely. Her limbs felt heavy and she opened her eyes slowly to stare into darkness illuminated only by the soft glow of candlelight. Solona jolted from her prone position to sit and stare wildly around her. Her memories flooded through her frightened state with comforting and provocative images of what she had been doing to end up in a bed that was not her own. Quotidian hazel eyes widened as she flanked out the window to see the night sky was in full bloom and horror etched a path across her face as understanding dawned that she was extremely late for her tasks.

Solona stumbled out from the bed, her feet nearly caught in the folds of the blanket as the cool night air hit her bare flesh. She shivered and looked around for her clothing. She glanced back at the bed to see that Cullen was not present. Cold worry settled in the pit of her stomach as she started on the ties of her dress.

"Cullen?" She called out trying not to let the rising panic she felt reflect in her tone. Her rational mind attempted to provide reasons that he would have been away from the bed they had shared.

"Cullen?" Solona wandered out into the light of the main living area only to find it sans Templar and she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. The sheen of vellum caught her sight and the woman walked quickly to the folded note. Her fingers trembled and she had been helpless to keep the tears from brimming in her eyes as unfolded the missive. She would not have faulted him for leaving her as she had so cruelly left him, but her heart ached at the thought. The apostate took a deep breath before scanning the words with as much eagerness as one would see getting a tooth pulled.

_Solona,_

_I will return shortly. I expect you to still be there when I get back._

_-Cullen_

A bark of laughter erupted from her throat before she had been able to squelch it. Solona gazed in fondness at the commanding way in which he had more or less ordered her not to leave the premises. She supposed that his Templar colors would show through in several aspects. The musing gave her pause as she wondered for the very first time since seeing him again why he had been here. _'Where was his armor?' _She wondered.

Her eyes searched the house for any noticeable sign of armor or even the smell of polish but she came up empty on both counts. Her feet lead her to the kitchen where still trembling hands grasped tightly onto a tin kettle that she shook to see if there was water within it. Heartened by her find, Solona had set about igniting a fire in the wood burning stove as she struck flint and steel to the kindling. Her breath gave life to the newly born embers as she had blown softly to encourage the rising flames.

Solona found herself tortured by thoughts and wonderings. She was stuck by the frightening notion that Cullen might have gone to fetch the Templars from the local chantry. Solona had avoided the giant reach of the law for nearly three years. Their hunt of her had dwindled long ago. Even though her traits would be recorded and her phylactery still active, Solona had been successful in avoiding magic completely. She wondered idly if he had gone to her employer, but Solona could not recall telling him who that was. She only remembered heat and touch, not talk at all. There was a pang of regret that had come with knowing that Madam Ward would be beside herself with worry over where Solona had gone.

'_If I still have a job come the morrow, I will apologize for all I am worth._' Solona thought sagely. There was a slim chance, according to her observation of the woman, that she would be so overjoyed that Solona or 'Elaine' was unharmed, that she would not fire her on the spot. Solona had given it about a 7 percent chance of success. Perhaps 4 if the woman was in foul spirits.

The sound of boiling water drew Solona from her possibly exhausting future of hunting down another position and she moved to find a decent clay or wooden mug. She combed over his supplies with a keen eye and had been disappointed to find nothing to add to the water. Solona sighed and poured the hot water into the mug and waited for it to cool. Her cold hands wrapped around the mug that gave off delicious radiant warmth as she moved to sit at the lone chair at the table. Her fingers smoothed over his note once more and Hazel eyes retraced the words.

She would wait; just as he asked.

Left alone with her thoughts had turned out to be poor company in the hour or so that ticked by watching the tapers melt gradually under the heat of the flames. The soft smell of beeswax filled the cozy space and Solona had drank her water in absolute silence. She refused to move from her perch atop the chair until he returned. She was a patient woman. She had been waiting for him for years. What were a few more hours in comparison to a lifetime?

Her gaze wandered the space of the room over and over as she wondered where they would go from here. Had it been closure he sought? What had happened to him in order for him to become a beekeeper in Gwaren? Solona had been certain he had the makings of a Knight-Commander when she had met him. Still as selfish as it had been she was glad that he was here and not still serving the oppressive ways of the Chantry. However, Solona understood that she had stopped caring about the Circle of Magi and the Chantry the last time she had seen Cullen walking past her as she had stood in the shadows like a spirit from beyond the veil. All that Solona had cared about or cared for had been held in the being of a lone stubborn Templar that could have cowed the Tevinter Imperium with a glare.

The first sounds of footfalls echoed in the silent room and Solona suppressed the rush of fear that crept up her spine. She watched the door creak and groan as it was opened from the outside while she sat petrified internally at what the next few moments would bring. Her face was a mask of cold detachment while inside her heart raged to beat a path out of her chest by force. Relief filled her at the sight of Cullen, very much alone, looking mildly pleased with himself if the way his chin tilted was any indication to the observant mage.

His amber orbs pinned her in place and her lips curled into a soft smile as Solona stared back at him unsure of what to say.

"I see you stayed." His voice was cautious but his eyes spoke to her of something more and Solona felt magic hum with anticipation.

"Indeed I did." Her hands clasped tightly around the empty mug and she leaned forward with her elbows on the table. It had given her the appearance of an enraptured person who hung off the other's every word; which at that moment she had been.

"There are many things we need to discuss." His eyes lowered and she watched his left hand reach into his pocket but not come out. She wondered if he had developed a new nervous habit or if he had injured that hand somehow.

"Yes, you're right. We do need to talk." She chuckled in humorless laughter that bordered on the hysterical. She was so inexperienced in what one said to someone they loved. She knew what she had observed from others but their situations were so far removed from her own that Solona was left alone with only thoughts and not words or deeds. There was so much she wanted to say but the words stubbornly refused to come as they danced on the tip of her tongue.

"Before we do." Her gaze locked with his and she noted the worry that puckered around his eyes making them harder. "I have to ask you one thing."

She swallowed reflexively and her heart thundered so loudly she had been sure he could hear it. "What?" She knew she lacked eloquence in times of emotional uncertainty.

He strode toward her and Solona resolutely held her ground sitting defenseless on the chair at his table. His eyes searched her face as he knelt down before her. Solona's brain had chosen that moment to shut off completely and even her thoughts had left her before this man. His warm and rough hand grasped hers softly as his other hand left his pocket with a flash of silver. Solona blinked, unable to move or breathe at the tender look on his face. The open and honest look of hope that brought fresh tears to her his fingers worked a band of silver over her ring finger when he had chosen to ask her.

"Would a lifetime with a humble beekeeper be enough to keep you here?" His voice was filled with excitement and a touch of reverence. Solona would have memorized his expression, but the tears that clouded her eyes made seeing him clearly impossible. Her shoulders trembled as she brought her free hand to her mouth as she began to sob in earnest.

"It will always be enough." Her voice had cracked from the sheer weight of the emotions that coursed through her, so many she could barely register them all. Her magic burst forth unable to be confined in the near rapture of its mistress as she had flung herself toward him. She had held him tightly as they both toppled to the floor. She lifted her tear streaked face to his. "You have always been enough." She vowed to him as he wrapped her in his arms and they embraced so tightly Solona feared she might break.

"I love you Solona." He whispered in her hair and she was forced to stop herself from crying even more. The words she had longed to hear for so long played a sweet tune to her ears and she snuggled her head into his chest.

"I love you too Cullen." Her tone held all the warmth she felt and had previously been afraid to share with him.

OoOoOo

**Epilogue**

Solona groaned in exasperation at the cheeky grin that had been directed her way. It had been her observation that whenever that grin came about on that handsome face, she was in for the most hair-raising day. In all honesty, she should have known what she was in for the day she agreed to become Mrs. Solona Ellis. Or Elaine Ellis as the people of Gwaren had come to know her. Yet, no matter how intelligent a mage she was, Solona could never seem to outsmart the owner of said cheeky grin.

"Don't you dare." She warned gazing into all to familiar amber orbs as a mischievous giggle echoed from the kitchen. Her feet were swift, but not swift enough to keep the fourteen-month-old son from pulling down the container that held all of the freshly picked vegetables Solona had just harvested from the family's garden. Dirt and carrots flew in all directions while she contemplated quite seriously if it were possible to suspend a child in mid-air for a period of time.

'_I must have patience. I must have patience. I must have patience._' She had recited to herself like a new spell that might miraculously cause the brimming anger to abate. Her gaze landed on her rather mobile son as she clapped happily to himself and squealed out in delight. Solona had been ready for him to take a nap all day and now seemed as good of a time as any to the mother-mage. She scooped the still talking babe into her arms and walked back into the shared bedroom that her little ones shared. Solona was tempted to tell Cullen that he would be granted the honor of watching their youngest on the morrow, but She sighed and recalled what had happened to their eldest when he had provoked a bee in his earliest years.

Solona shook her head as she had closed the door. Her days and nights had been filled with love. An escaped apostate who had been the only successful escape from the Circle of Magi in its history had been blessed with a former-Templar husband and three fine sons. Solona had heard tales from passing traveling Templars and her dear husband, that the dreaded apostate Amell was rumored to have joined with the Witches of the Wilds. Where that tale had been spun, Solona suspected her incompetent chantry Hunters who had not wanted to their lack of success to reflect badly upon them.

'_All boys. Maker, would it really be so horrid if you gave me at least one more female to ease my burdens?" _she prayed with amusement evident in her thoughts. Though she was still a very introverted person, around her husband and sons she had become someone new. She had always been eternally grateful that she had taken a few risks. The rewards of such risks were her world as she listened to her youngest son protest his forced confinement she laughed softly to herself.

Warm arms wrapped around her waist as she picked up the last of the carrots from their un-needed demise. A pair of lips pressed sweetly at her temple.

"Hello love." He whispered and she leaned into him, allowing herself a few calm breaths.

"Hello yourself." She stated playfully as she turned around to face him. The years had been kind to them both as she sought out a life in the wild changing ways of the world. Her magic sung happily around her a swirling mix of power and contentment.

"After all these years, your magic still sings to me." She watched the most handsome grin paint his lips and Solona laughed.

"It adores you just as much as I do." Solona winked coyly up at him and she felt the low rumble that started in his chest, the barest hints of a growl as she went back to her task. She heard the pitter-patter of two sets of smaller feet as they started a stampede through the front door. She lowered her head in defeat for the youngest started to wail wanting out of his room. Life in the Circle had been a bed of roses compared to the sufferings a mother went through out of love. Exasperation had turned out to be a common occurrence as well as precious moments she would treasure long after she had been surrendered to the side of the Maker. Her only desire is that she could walk it at Cullen's side.

But Mage Amell , now Mage Ellis, was special. She had never been caught; at least not according to the Chantry's records.


End file.
